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ALL  SORTS 
AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS 
OF  MEN 

AN  IMPOSSIBLE  STORY 


BY 

WALTER  BESANT 

AND 

JAMES  RICE 


NEW  YORK 

LOVELL,   CORYELL  &  COIVIPANY 

43,  45  AND  47  East  IOth  Street 


i::^ 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 
in  2010  witii  funding  from 
Dul<e  University  Libraries 


littp://www.archive.org/details/allsortsconditiOObesa 


TO 

Ube  /iDemor^ 

OF 

JAMES  RICE 


PREFACE. 


The  ten  years'  partnership  of  myself  and  my  late 
friend  Mr.  James  Rice  has  been  terminated  b}'  death. 
I  am  persuaded  that  nothing  short  of  death  would  have 
put  an  end  to  a  partnership  which  was  conducted 
throughout  with  perfect  accord,  and  without  the  least 
difference  of  opinion.  The  long  illness  which  termi- 
nated fatally  on  April  t^oth  of  this  year  began  in  Janu- 
ary of  last  3'ear.  There  were  intervals  during  which 
he  seemed  to  be  recovering  and  gaining  strength ;  he 
was,  indeed,  well  enough  in  the  autumn  to  try  chmige 
of  air  by  a  visit  to  Holland ;  but  he  broke  down  again 
very  shortly  after  his  return :  though  he  did  not  him- 
self suspect  it,  he  was  under  sentence  of  death,  and  for 
the  last  six  months  of  his  life  his  downward  course  was 
steady  and  continuous. 

Almost  the  last  act  of  his  in  our  partnership  was  the 
arrangement,  with  certain  country  papers  and  else- 
where, for  the  serial  publication  of  this  novel,  the  sub- 
ject and  writing  of  which  were  necessarily  left  entirely 
to  myself. 

The  many  wanderings,  therefore,  which  I  undertook 
last    summer    in    Stepney,    Whitechapel,   Poplar,   St. 


6  PREFACE. 

George's  in  the  East,  Limehouse,  Bow,  Stratford,  Shad- 
well,  and  all  that  great  and  marvellous  unknown  coun- 
try which  we  call  East  London,  were  undertaken,  for 
the  first  time  for  ten  years,  alone.  They  would  have 
been  undertaken  in  great  sadness  had  one  foreseen  the 
end.  In  one  of  these  wanderings  I  had  the  happiness 
to  discover  Rotherhithe,  which  I  afterward  explored 
with  carefulness ;  in  another,  I  lit  upon  a  certain  Haven 
of  Rest  for  aged  sea-captains,  among  whom  I  found 
Captain  Sorensen ;  in  others  I  found  many  wonderful 
things,  and  conversed  with  many  wonderful  people. 
The  "single-handedness,"  so  to  speak,  of  this  book 
would  have  been  a  mere  episode  in  the  history  of  the 
firm,  a  matter  of  no  concern  or  interest  to  the  general 
public,  had  my  friend  recovered.  But  he  is  dead ;  and 
it  therefore  devolves  upon  me  to  assume  the  sole  respon- 
sibility of  the  work,  for  good  or  bad.  The  same  re- 
sponsibility is,  of  course,  assumed  for  the  two  short 
stories,  "  The  Captain's  Room,"  published  at  Christmas 
last,  and  "They  Were  Married,"  published  as  the  sum- 
mer number  of  the  lllust/xited  London  Neivs.  The 
last  story  was,  in  fact,  written  after  the  death  of  my 
partner ;  but  as  it  had  already  been  announced,  it  was 
thought  best,  under  the  circumstances,  to  make  no 
change  in  the  title. 

I  have  been  told  by  certain  friendly  advisers  that 
this  story  is  impossible.  I  have,  therefore,  stated  the 
fact  on  the  title-page,  so  that  no  one  may  complain  of 
being  taken  in  or  deceived.  But  I  have  never  been 
able  to  understand  why  it  is  impossible. 

Walter  Besant. 

United  UNrvERSiTiES'  Club,  August  19,  1882. 


COl^TEKTS. 


Prologue— IN  Two  Parts, 
I. — News  for  His  Lordship, 
II.— A  Very  Complete  Case, 
III. — Only  a  Dressmaker, 
IV. — Uncle  Bunker, 
v.— The  Cares  of  "Wealth, 
VI. — A  First  Step, 
VII.— The  Trinity  Almshouse, 
VIII. — What  He  Got  by  It, 
IX. — The  Day  Before  the  First, 
X. — The  Great  Davenant  Case, 
XI.— The  First  Day, 
XII. — Sunday  at  the  East  End, 
XIII. — Angela's  Experiment, 
XIV.  —The  Tender  Passion,     . 
XV.— A  Splendid  Offer, 
XVI.— Harry's  Decision, 
XVII.— What  Lord  Jocelyn  Thought, 
XVIII. —The  Palace  of  Delight, 
XIX.— Dick  the  Radical, 
XX.  — Do^YN  on  Their  Luck, 
XXI. — Lady  Davenant,    . 
XXII. — Daniel  Fagg, 
XXIII.— The  Missing  Link, 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV. — Lord  Jocelyn's  Troubles 229 

XXV.— An  Invitation,            238 

XXVI.— Lord  Davenant's  Greatness,  ....  247 

XXVII.— The  Same  Signs, 257 

XXVIIL— Harry  Finds  Liberty, 260 

XXIX.— The  Figure-heads, 276 

XXX. — The  Professor's  Proposal,      ....  285 

XXXI.— Captain  Coppin 292 

XXXII.— Bunker  at  Bay 303 

XXXIII. —Mr.  Bunker's  Letter, 310 

XXXIV.— Proofs  in  Print, 316 

XXXV.— "Then  WE'LL  Keep  Company,"         .        .        .323 

XXXVI.— Whai^ WILL  be  the  End?  .        .        .        .333 

XXXVII. — Truth  with  Faithfulness,        ....  338 

XXXVIII.— I  AM  THE  Dressmaker, 347 

XXXIX.— Thrice  Happy  Boy, 356 

XL.— Sweet  Nelly, 363 

XLL— Boxing-Night, 371 

XLII. — Not  Josephus,  but  Another,           .        .        .  378 

XLHI.—O  MY  Prophetic  Soul! 387 

XLFV.— A  Fool  and  his  Money, 397 

XLV.— Lady  Davenant's  Dinner-party,     .        .        .  402 

XLVI.— The  End  of  the  Case, 413 

XLVII.— A  Palace  of  Delight 418 

XLVIII.— My  Lady  Sweet, 425 

XLIX.  — "  IJPROUSE  YE  THEN,   MY  MeRRY,   MERRY  MEN,  "  433 


All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men. 


PROLOGUE.— Part  I. 


It  was  the  evening  of  a  day  in  early  June.  The 
time  was  last  year,  and  the  place  was  Cambridge.  The 
Sim  had  been  visible  in  the  heavens,  a  gracious  pres- 
ence, actually  a  whole  week — in  itself  a  thing  remark- 
able ;  the  hearts  of  the  most  soured,  even  of  landlords 
and  farmers,  were  coming  to  believe  again  in  the  possi- 
bility of  fine  weather;  the  clergy  were  beginning  to 
think  that  they  might  this  year  hold  a  real  Harvest 
Thanksgiving  instead  of  a  sham ;  the  trees  at  the  Backs 
were  in  full  foliage;  the  avenues  of  Trinity  and  Clare 
were  splendid ;  beside  them  the  trim  lawns  sloped  to  the 
margin  of  the  Cam,  here  most  glorious  and  proudest  of 
English  rivers,  seeing  that  he  laves  the  meadows  of 
those  ancient  and  venerable  foundations.  King's,  Trin- 
ity, and  St.  John's,  to  say  nothing  of  Queen's  and  Clare 
and  Magdalen ;  men  were  lazily  floating  in  canoes,  or 
leaning  over  the  bridges,  or  strolling  about  the  walks, 
or  lying  on  the  grass;  and  among  them — but  not — oh! 
not  with  them — walked  or  rested  many  of  the  damsels 
of  learned  Newnham,  chiefly  in  pairs,  holding  sweet 
converse 

On  mind  and  art, 
And  labor  and  the  changiuji;  mart, 
And  all  the  framework  of  the  land : 

not  neglecting  the  foundations  of  the  Christian  faith 
and  other  fashionable  topics,  which  ladies  nowadays 
handle  with  so  much  learning,  originality,  dexterity, 
and  power. 

We  have,  however,  to  do  with  only  one  pair,  who 


10  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

were  sitting  together  on  the  banks  opposite  Trinity. 
These  two  were  talking  about  a  subject  far  more  inter- 
esting than  any  concerning  mind,  or  art,  or  philosophy, 
or  the  chances  of  the  senate-house,  or  the  future  of 
Newnham :  for  they  were  talking  about  themselves  and 
their  own  lives,  and  what  they  were  to  do  each  with 
that  one  life  which  happened,  by  the  mere  accident  of 
birth,  to  belong  to  herself.  It  must  be  a  curious  sub- 
ject for  reflection  in  extreme  old  age,  when  everything 
has  happened  that  is  going  to  happen,  including  rheu- 
matism, that,  but  for  this  accident,  one's  life  might 
have  been  so  very  dilferent. 

"  Because,  Angela,"  said  the  one  who  wore  spectacles 
and  looked  older  than  she  was,  by  reason  of  much  pon- 
dering over  books  and  perhaps  too  little  exercise,  "  be- 
cause, my  dear,  we  have  but  this  one  life  before  us,  and 
if  we  make  mistakes  with  it,  or  throw  it  away,  or  waste 
it,  or  lose  our  chances,  it  is  such  a  dreadful  pity.  Oh, 
to  think  of  the  girls  who  drift  and  let  every  chance  go 
by,  and  get  nothing  out  of  their  lives  at  all — except 
babies"  (she  spoke  of  babies  with  great  contempt). 
"  Oh !  it  seems  as  if  every  moment  were  precious :  oh ! 
it  is  a  sin  to  waste  an  hour  of  it." 

She  gasped  and  clasped  her  hands  together  with  a 
sigh.  She  was  not  acting,  not  at  all ;  this  girl  was  that 
hitherto  rare  thing,  a  girl  of  study  and  of  books;  she 
was  wholly  possessed,  like  the  great  scholars  of  old, 
with  the  passion  for  learning. 

"  Oh !  greedy  person !  "  replied  the  other  with  a  laugh, 
"if  you  read  all  the  books  in  the  University  library, 
and  lose  the  enjoyment  of  sunshine,  what  shall  it  profit 
you,  in  the  long  run?" 

This  one  was  a  young  woman  of  much  finer  physique 
than  her  friend.  She  was  not  short-sighted,  but  pos- 
sessed, in  fact,  a  pair  of  orbs  of  very  remarkable  clear- 
ness, steadiness,  and  brightness.  They  were  not  soft 
eyes,  nor  languishing  eyes,  nor  sleepy  eyes,  nor  down- 
cast, shrinking  eyes;  they  were  wide-awake,  brown, 
honest  eyes;  which  looked  fearlessly  upon  all  things, 
fair  or  foul.  A  girl  does  not  live  at  Newnham  two 
years  for  nothing,  mind  you ;  when  she  leaves  that  seat 
of  learning,  she  has  changed  her  mind  about  the  model, 
the  perfect,  the  ideal  woman.     More  than  that,  she  will 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  11 

change  the  minds  of  her  sisters  and  her  cousins ;  and 
there  are  going  to  be  a  great  many  Newnhams,  and 
the  spread  of  this  revolution  will  be  rapid;  and  the 
shrinking,  obedient,  docile,  man-reverencing,  curate- 
worshipping  maiden  of  our  youth  will  shortly  vanish  and 
be  no  more  seen.  And  what  will  the  curate  do  then, 
poor  thing?  Wherefore  let  the  bishop  look  to  certain 
necessary  changes  in  the  marriage  service;  and  let  the 
j-oung  men  see  that  their  own  ideas  change  with  the 
times,  else  there  will  be  no  sweethearts  for  them.  More 
could  I  prophesy,  but  refrain. 

This  young  lady  owned,  besides  those  mentioned 
above,  many  other  points  which  will  always  be  consid- 
ered desirable  at  her  age,  whatever  be  the  growth  of 
feminine  education  (wherefore,  courage,  brothers !) .  In 
all  these  points  she  contrasted  favorably  with  her  com- 
panion. For  her  face  was  simny,  and  fair  to  look  upon ; 
one  of  the  younger  clerical  dons — now  a  scanty  band, 
almost  a  remnant — was  reported  to  have  said,  after  gaz- 
ing upon  that  face,  that  he  now  understood,  which  he 
had  never  understood  before,  what  Solomon  meant  when 
he  compared  his  love's  temples  to  a  piece  of  pomegran- 
ate within  her  locks.  No  one  asked  him  what  he  meant, 
but  he  was  a  mathematical  man,  and  so  he  must  have 
meant  something,  if  it  was  only  trigonometry.  As  to 
her  figure,  it  was  wdiat  a  healthy,  naturally  dressed, 
and  strong  young  woman's  figure  ought  to  be,  and  not 
more  slender  in  the  waist  than  was  the  figure  of  Venus 
or  Mother  Eve;  and  her  limbs  were  elastic,  so  that  she 
seemed  when  she  walked  as  if  she  would  like  to  run, 
jump,  and  dance,  which,  indeed,  she  would  have  greatly 
preferred,  only  at  Newnham  they  "  take  it  out"  at  lawn 
tennis.  And  whatever  might  be  the  course  of  life 
marked  out  by  herself,  it  was  quite  certain  to  the  intel- 
ligent observer  that  before  long  Love  the  invincible — 
Love  that  laughs  at  plots,  plans,  conspiracies,  and  de- 
signs— would  upset  them  all,  and  trace  out  quite  an- 
other line  of  life  for  her,  and  most  probably  the  most 
commonplace  line  of  all. 

"Your  life,  Constance,"  she  went  on,  "seems  to  me 
the  most  happy  and  the  most  fortunate.  How  nobly 
you  have  vindicated  the  intellect  of  women  by  your 
degree !" 


12  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"No,  vcij  dear."    Constance  shook   her   head   sadly.. 
"  No :  only  partly  vindicated  our  intellect ;  remember  I 
was  but  fifth  wrangler,  and  there  were  four  men — men, 
Angela— above  me.     I  wanted  to  be  senior. " 

"  Everybody  knows  that  the  fifth  is  always  as  good 
as  the  first."  Constance,  however,  shook  her  head  at 
this  daring  attempt  at  consolation.  "At  all  events, 
Constance,  you  will  go  on  to  prove  it  by  your  original 
papers  when  j'ou  publish  your  researches.  You  will 
lecture  like  Hypatia ;  you  will  have  the  undergraduates 
leaving  the  men  and  crowding  to  your  theatre.  You 
will  become  the  greatest  mathematician  in  Cambridge ; 
you  will  be  famous  for  ever.  You  will  do  better  than 
man  himself,  even  in  man's  most  exalted  level  of  intel- 
lectual strength." 

The  pale  cheek  of  the  student  flushed. 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  do  better  than  men,"  she  replied 
humbly.  "  It  will  be  enough  if  I  do  as  well.  Yes,  my 
dear,  all  my  life,  short  or  long,  shall  be  given  to  sci- 
ence. I  will  have  no  love  in  it,  or  marriage,  or — or — 
anything  of  that  kind  at  all." 

"Nor  will  T,"  said  the  other  stoutly,  yet  with  appar- 
ent effort.  "Marriage  spoils  a  woman's  career;  we 
must  live  our  life  to  its  utmost,  Constance." 

"We  must,  Angela.  It  is  the  only  thing  in  this 
world  of  doubt  that  is  a  clear  duty.  I  owe  mine  to  sci- 
ence.    You,  my  dear,  to " 

She  would  have  said  to  "  Political  Economy,'"  but  a 
thought  checked  her.  For  a  singular  thing  had  hap- 
pened only  the  day  before.  This  friend  of  hers,  this 
Angela  Messenger,  who  had  recently  illustrated  the 
strength  of  women's  intellect  by  passing  a  really  bril- 
liant examination  in  that  particular  science,  astonished 
her  friends  at  a  little  informal  meeting  in  the  library 
by  an  oration.  In  this  speech  she  went  out  of  her 
way  to  pour  contempt  upon  Political  Economy.  It  was 
a  so-called  science,  she  said — not  a  science  at  all :  a  col- 
lection of  theories  impossible  of  proof.  It  treated  of 
men  and  women  as  skittles,  it  ignored  the  principal 
motives  of  action,  it  had  been  put  together  for  the  most 
part  by  doctrinaires  who  lived  apart,  and  knew  nothing 
about  men  and  less  about  women,  and  it  was  a  favorite 
stud}^,  she  cruelly  declared,  of  her  own  sex,  because  it 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  13 

was  the  most  easily  crammed  and  made  the  most  show. 
As  for  herself,  she  declared  that  for  all  the  good  it  had 
done  her,  she  might  just  as  well  have  gone  through  a 
course  of  sesthetics  or  studied  the  symbols  of  advanced 
ritualism. 

Therefore,  remembering  the  oration,  Constance  Wood- 
cote  hesitated.  To  what  Cause  (with  a  capital  C)  should 
Angela  Messenger  devote  her  life? 

'•  I  will  tell  you  presentlj',"  said  Angela,  "how  I  shall 
begin  mj  life.  Where  the  beginning  will  lead  me,  I 
cannot  tell." 

Then  there  was  silence  for  a  while.  The  sun  sank 
lower  and  the  setting  rays  fell  upon  the  foliage,  and 
every  leaf  showed  like  a  leaf  of  gold,  and  the  river  lay 
in  shadow  and  became  ghostly,  and  the  windows  of 
Trinity  Librarj'-  opposite  to  them  gMwed,  and  the  New 
Court  of  St.  John's  at  their  left  hand  became  like  unto 
the  palace  of  Kubla  Khan. 

"  Oh  !"  sighed  the  young  mathematician.  "  I  shall 
never  be  satisfied  till  iSTewnham  crosses  the  river.  We 
must  have  one  of  these  colleges  for  ourselves.  We 
must  have  King's.  Yes,  King's  will  be  the  best.  And 
oh !  how  differently  we  shall  live  from  the  so-called  stu- 
dents who  are  now  smoking  tobacco  in  each  other's 
rooms,  or  playing  billiards,  or  even  cards — the  superior 
sex !" 

"  As  for  us,  we  shall  presently  go  back  to  our  rooms, 
have  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  talk,  my  dear.  Then  we  shall 
go  to  bed.  As  regards  the  men,  those  of  your  mental 
level,  Constance,  do  not,  I  suppose,  plaj'  billiards ;  nor 
do  they  smoke  tobacco.  Undergraduates  are  not  all 
students,  remember.  Most  of  tliem  are  nothing  but 
mere  pass-men  who  will  become  curates." 

Two  points  in  this  speech  seem  to  call  for  remark. 
First,  the  singular  igniorance  of  mankind,  common  to 
all  women,  which  led  the  girl  to  believe  that  a  great 
man  of  science  is  superior  to  the  pleasures  of  weaker 
brethren;  for  they  cannot  understand  the  delights  of 
fooling.  The  second  point  is — but  it  may  be  left  to 
those  who  read  as  they  run. 

Then  they  rose  and  walked  slowly  under  the  grand 
old  trees  of  Trinit}'  Avenue,  facing  the  setting  sun,  so 
that  when  they  came  to  the  end  and  turned  to  the  left. 


14  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

it  seemed  as  if  they  plunged  into  night.  And  pres- 
ently they  came  to  the  gates  of  Newnham,  the  newer 
Newnham,  with  its  trim  garden  and  Queen  Anne  man- 
sion. It  grates  upon  one  that  the  beginnings  of  a  noble 
and  lasting  reform  should  be  housed  in  a  palace  built  in 
the  conceited  fashion  of  the  day.  What  will  they  say 
of  it  in  fifty  years,  when  the  fashion  has  changed  and 
new  styles  reign? 

"Come,"  said  Angela,  "come  into  my  room.  Let 
my  last  evening  in  the  dear  place  be  spent  with  you, 
Constance." 

Angela's  own  room  was  daintily  furnished  and 
adorned  with  as  many  pictures,  pretty  things,  books, 
and  bric-a-brac  as  the  narrow  dimensions  of  a  Newn- 
ham  cell  will  allow.  In  a  more  advanced  Newnham 
there  will  be  two  rooms  for  each  student,  and  these 
will  be  larger. 

The  girls  sat  by  the  open  window :  the  air  was  soft 
and  sweet.  A  bunch  of  cowslips  from  the  Coton  mead- 
ows perfumed  the  room;  there  was  the  jug-jug  of  a 
nightingale  in  some  tree  not  far  off ;  opposite  them  were 
the  lights  of  the  other  Newnham. 

"  The  last  night !"  said  Angela.  "  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve that  I  go  down  to-morrow." 

Then  she  was  silent  again. 

"My  life,"  she  went  on,  speaking  softly  in  the  twi- 
light, "begins  to-morrow.  What  am  I  to  do  with  it? 
Your  own  solution  seems  so  easy  because  you  are  clever 
and  you  have  no  money,  while  I,  who  am — well,  dear, 
not  devoured  by  thirst  for  learning — have  got  so  much. 
To  begin  with,  there  is  the  Brewery.  You  cannot  es- 
cape from  a  big  brewery  if  it  belong  to  you.  You  can- 
not hide  it  away.  Messenger,  Marsden  &  Company's 
Stout,  their  XXX,  their  Old  and  Mild,  their  Bitter, 
their  Family  Ales  (that  particularly  at  eight-and-six 
the  nine-gallon  cask,  if  paid  for  on  delivery),  their 
drays,  their  huge  horses,  their  strong  men,  whose  very 
appearance  advertises  the  beer,  and  makes  the  weak- 
kneed  and  the  narrow-chested  rush  to  Whitechapel — 
my  dear,  these  things  stare  one  in  the  face  wherever 
you  go.  I  am  that  brewery,  as  you  know.  I  am  Mes- 
senger, Marsden  &  Company,  myself,  the  sole  partner 
in  what  my  lawyer  sweetly  calls  the  Concern.     Nobody 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  15 

else  is  concerned  in  it.     It  is — alas! — my  own  Great 
Concern,  a  dreadful  responsibility." 

"  Wh}'?     Your  people  manage  it  for  j'ou." 

"Yes — oh!  yes — they  do.  And  whether  they  man- 
age it  badly  or  well  I  do  not  know ;  whether  they  make 
wholesome  beer  or  bad,  whether  they  treat  their  clerks 
and  workmen  generously  or  meanly,  whether  the  name 
of  the  company  is  beloved  or  hated,  I  do  not  know. 
Perhaps  the  very  making  of  beer  at  all  is  wickedness." 

"But — Angela,"  the  other  interrupted,  "it  is  no  bus- 
iness of  yours.  Naturally,  wages  are  regulated  by  sup- 
ply and " 

"  No,  my  dear.  That  is  political  economy.  I  prefer 
the  good  old  English  plan.  If  I  employ  a  man  and  he 
works  faithfully,  I  should  like  that  man  to  feel  that  he 
grows  every  day  worth  to  me  more  than  his  market- 
able value." 

Constance  was  silenced. 

"Then,  beside  the  brewery,"  Angela  went  on,  "there 
is  an  unconscionable  sum  of  money  in  the  funds." 

"There,  at  least,"  said  her  friend,  "you  need  feel  no 
scruple  of  conscience." 

"  But  indeed  I  do ;  for  how  do  I  know  that  it  is  right 
to  keep  all  this  money  idle !  A  hundred  pounds  saved 
and  put  into  the  funds  mean  three  pounds  a  year.  It  is 
like  a  perennial  stream  flowing  from  a  hidden  reservoir 
in  the  hillside.  But  this  stream,  in  my  case,  does  no 
good  at  all.  It  neither  fertilizes  the  soil  nor  is  it  drunk 
by  man  or  beast,  nor  does  it  turn  mills,  nor  is  it  a  beau- 
tiful thing  to  look  upon,  nor  does  its  silver  current  flow 
by  banks  of  flowers  or  fall  in  cascades.  It  all  runs 
away,  and  makes  another  reservoir  in  another  hillside. 
My  dear,  it  is  a  stream  of  compound  interest,  which  is 
constantly  getting  deeper  and  broader  and  stronger,  and 
yet  is  never  of  the  least  use,  and  turns  no  "wheels. 
Now,  what  am  I  to  do  with  this  money?" 

"Endow  Newnham;  there,  at  least,  is  something 
practical." 

"  I  will  found  some  scholarships,  if  you  please,  later 
on,  when  3'ou  have  made  j'our  own  work  felt.  Again, 
there  are  my  houses  in  the  East  End." 

"Sell  them." 
"That  is  only  to  shift  the  responsibility.     My  dear, 


16  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

I  have  streets  of  bouses.  The}^  all  lie  about  Wbite- 
cbapel  way.  M}"  grandfatber,  Jobn  Messenger,  bougbt 
bouses,  I  believe,  just  as  otber  people  buy  apples,  by 
the  peck,  or  some  larger  measure,  a  reduction  being 
made  on  taking  a  quantity.  There  they  are,  and  mostly 
inhabited." 

"  You  have  agents,  I  suppose?"  said  Constance  un- 
sympathizingl}^  "  It  is  their  duty  to  see  that  the  houses 
are  well  kept." 

"  Yes,  I  have  agents.  But  they  cannot  absolve  me 
from  responsibility." 

"Then,"  asked  Constance,  "what  do  j^ou  mean  to 
do?" 

"  I  am  a  native  almost  of  Whitechapel.  My  grand- 
father, who  succeeded  to  the  brewery,  was  born  there. 
His  father  was  also  a  brewer :  his  grandfather  is,  I  be- 
lieve, prehistoric :  he  lived  there  long  after  his  son,  my 
father,  was  born.  When  he  moved  to  Bloomsbury 
Square  he  thought  he  was  getting  into  quite  a  fashion- 
able quarter,  and  he  only  w^ent  to  Portman  Square  be- 
cause he  desired  me  to  go  into  society.  I  am  so  rich 
that  I  shall  quite  certainly  be  welcomed  in  societ}^. 
But,  my  dear,  Whitechapel  and  its  neighorbhood  are 
my  proper  sphere.  Why,  my  very  name !  I  reek  of 
beer ;  I  am  all  beer ;  my  blood  is  beer.  Angela  Mars- 
den  Messenger !  What  could  more  plainly  declare  my 
connection  with  Messenger,  Marsden  &  Company?  I 
only  wonder  that  he  did  not  call  me  Marsden-&-Com- 
pany  Messenger." 

"  But— Angela " 

"  He  would,  Constance,  if  he  had  thought  of  it.  For, 
you  see,  I  was  the  heiress  from  the  very  beginning,  be- 
cause mv  father  died  before  mj'  birth.  And  mj'  grand- 
father intended  me  to  become  the  perfect  brewer,  if  a 
woman  can  attain  to  so  high  an  ideal.  Therefore  I  was 
educated  in  the  necessary  and  fitting  lines.  They  taught 
me  the  industries  of  England,  the  arts  and  manufact- 
ures, mathematics,  accounts,  the  great  outlets  of  trade, 
book-keeping,  mechanics — all  those  things  that  are 
practical.  How  it  happened  that  I  was  allowed  to  learn 
music  I  do  not  know.  Then,  wlien  I  grew  up,  I  was 
sent  here  by  him,  because  the  very  air  of  Cambridge, 
lie  thought,  makes  people  exact;   and  women   are   so 


ALL  SOIiTS  AND  COXDITIONS  OF  31EN.  17 

prone  to  be  inexact.  I  was  to  read  while  I  was  here  all 
the  books  about  political  and  social  economy.  I  have 
also  learned  for  business  jxirposes  two  or  three  lan- 
guages, I  am  now  finished.  I  know  all  the  theories 
about  people,  and  I  don't  believe  any  of  them  will  work. 
Therefore,  my  dear,  I  shall  get  to  know  the  people  be- 
fore I  apply  them." 

"  Was  your  grandfather  a  student  of  political  econ- 
omy?" 

"  Not  at  all.  But  he  had  a  respect  for  justice,  and  he 
Vv^anted  me  to  be  just.  It  is  so  difficult,  he  used  to  saj^ 
for  a  woman  to  be  just.  For  either  she  flies  into  a  rage 
and  punishes  with  excess,  or  she  takes  pity  and  for- 
gives. As  for  himself,  he  was  as  hard  as  nails,  and 
the  people  knew  it." 

"And  your  project?" 

"  It  is  very  simple.  I  efface  myself.  I  vanish.  I 
disappear, " 

"What?" 

"  If  anybody  asks  where  I  am,  no  one  will  know,  ex- 
cept 5'ou,  my  dear;  and  you  will  not  tell." 

"  You  will  be  in "  ' 

"  In  Whitechapel,  or  thereabouts.  Your  Angela  will 
be  a  dressmaker,  and  she  will  live  by  herself  and  be- 
come— what  her  great-grandmother  was — one  of  the 
people." 

"  You  will  not  like  it  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  I  am  weary  of  theories,  facts,  sta- 
tistics. I  want  flesh  and  blood.  I  want  to  feel  myself 
a  part  of  tliis  striving,  eager,  anxious  humanity,  on 
whose  labors  I  live  in  comfort,  by  whom  I  have  been 
educated,  to  whom  I  owe  all,  and  for  whom  I  have 
done  nothing — no,  nothing  at  all,  selfish  wretch  that  I 
am!" 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  fine  gesture  of  remorse. 

"  O  woman  of  silence !"  she  cried ;  "  you  sit  upon 
the  heights,  and  you  can  disregard — because  it  is  your 
right — the  sorrows  and  the  joys  of  the  w^orld.  But  I 
cannot.  I  belong  to  the  people — with  a  great  big  P, 
my  dear — I  cannot  bear  to  go  on  living  by  their  toil  and 
giving  nothing  in  return.  What  a  dreadful  thing  is  a 
she-Dives!" 

"I  confess,"  said  Constance  coldly,  "that  I  have  al- 
2 


18  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN. 

ways  regarded  wealth  as  a  means  for  leading  the  higher 
life — the  life  of  study  and  research — unencumbered  by 
the  sordid  aims  and  mean  joys  of  the  vulgar  herd." 

"  It  is  possible  and  right  for  you  to  live  apart,  my 
dear.  It  is  impossible,  because  it  would  be  wrong  for 
me." 

''But — alone?  You  will  venture  into  the  dreadful 
region  alone?" 

"  Quite  alone,  Constance." 

"  And — and — j^our  reputation,  Angela?" 

Angela  laughed  merrily. 

"  As  for  my  reputation,  my  dear,  it  may  e  care  of 
itself.  Those  of  my  friends  who  think  I  am  not  to  be 
trusted  may  transfer  their  affection  to  more  worth}^  ob- 
jects. The  first  thing  in  the  emancipation  of  the  sex, 
Constance,  is  equal  education.     The  next  is " 

"What?"  for  Angela  paused. 

She  drew  forth  from  her  pocket  a  small  bright  instru- 
ment of  steel,  which  glittered  in  the  twilight.  Not  a 
revolver,  dear  readers. 

"  The  next,"  she  said,  brandishing  the  weapon  before 
Constance's  eyes,  "is— the  LATCH-KEY." 


PROLOGUE.— Part  II. 

The  time  was  eleven  in  the  forenoon ;  the  season  was 
the  month  of  roses ;  the  place  was  a  room  on  the  first 
floor  at  the  Park-end  of  Piccadilly — a  noisy  room,  be- 
cause the  windows  were  open,  and  there  was  a  great 
thunder  and  rattle  of  cabs,  omnibuses,  and  all  kinds  of 
vehicles.  When  this  noise  became,  as  it  sometimes 
did,  intolerable,  the  occupant  of  the  room  shut  his 
doulDle  windows,  and  immediately  there  was  a  great 
calm,  with  a  melodious  roll  of  distant  wheels,  like  the 
buzzing  of  bees  about  the  marigold  on  a  summer  after- 
noon. With  the  double  window  a  man  may  calmly  sit 
down  amid  even  the  roar  of  Cheapside,  or  the  never- 
ending  cascade  of  noise  at  Charing  Cross. 

The  room  was  furnished  with  taste;  the  books  on  the 
shelves  were  well  bound,  as  if  the  owner  took  a  proper 
pride  in  them,  as  indeed  was  the  case.     There  were  two 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  Id 

or  three  good  pictures;  there  was  a  girl's  head  in  mar- 
ble; there  were  cards  and  invitations  lying  on  the  man- 
tel-shelf and  in  a  rack  beside  the  clock.  Everybod}'' 
could  tell  at  the  first  look  of  the  room  that  it  was  a 
bachelor's  den.  Also  because  nothing  was  new,  and 
because  there  were  none  of  the  peacockeries,  whims  and 
fancies,  absurdities,  fads  and  fashions,  gimcrackeries, 
the  presence  of  which  does  always  and  infallibly  pro- 
claim the  chamber  of  a  young  man ;  this  room  mani- 
festly belonged  to  a  bachelor  who  was  old  in  the  pro- 
fession. In  fact,  the  owner  of  the  chambers,  of  which 
this  was  the  breakfast,  morning,  and  dining-room, 
whenever  he  dined  at  home,  was  seated  in  an  armchair 
beside  a  breakfast-table,  looking  straight  before  him, 
with  a  face  filled  with  anxiety.  An  honest,  ugly,  pleas- 
ing, rugged,  attractive  face,  whose  features  were  carved 
one  day  when  Dame  Nature  was  benevolently  disposed, 
but  had  a  blunt  chisel. 

"I  always  told  him,"  he  muttered,  "that  he  should 
learn  the  whole  of  his  family  history  as  soon  as  he  was 
three-and-twenty  years  of  age.  One  must  keej)  such 
promises.  Yet  it  would  have  been  better  that  he  should 
never  know.  But  then  it  might  have  been  found  out, 
and  that  would  have  been  far  worse.  Yet,  how  could 
it  have  been  found  out?     No:  that  is  ridiculous." 

He  mused  in  silence.  In  his  fingers  he  held  a  cigar 
which  he  had  lit,  but  allowed  to  go  out  again.  The 
morning  paper  was  lying  on  the  table,  unopened. 

"  How  will  the  boy  take  it?"  he  asked;  "  will  he  take 
it  crying?     Or  will  he  take  it  laughing?" 

He  smiled,  picturing  to  himself  the  "boy's"  astonish- 
ment. 

Looking  at  the  man  more  closel}',  one  became  aware 
that  he  was  really  a  very  pleasant-looking  person.  He 
was  about  five-and-forty  years  of  age,  and  he  wore  a 
full  beard  and  mustache,  after  the  manner  of  his  con- 
temporaries, with  whom  a  beard  is  still  considered  a 
manly  ornament  to  the  face.  The  beard  was  brown, 
but  it  began  to  show,  as  wine-merchants  say  of  port, 
the  "  appearance  of  age."  In  some  light,  there  was 
more  gTay  than  bro^\'n.  His  dark-brown  hair,  how- 
ever, retained  its  original  thickness  of  thatch,  and  was 
as  yet  untouched  by  any  streak  of  gray.     Seeing  that 


20  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

he  belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest  and  host  of  English 
families,  one  might  have  expected  something  of  that 
delicacy  of  feature  which  some  of  us  associate  with 
birth.  But,  as  has  already  been  said,  his  face  was 
rudely  chiselled,  his  complexion  was  ruddy,  and  he 
looked  as  robust  as  a  plough-boy ;  yet  he  had  the  air  of  an 
English  gentleman,  and  that  ought  to  satisfy  anybody. 
And  he  was  the  younger  son  of  a  duke,  being  by  cour- 
tesy Lord  Jocelj'n  Le  Brett  n. 

While  he  was  thus  meditating,  there  was  a  quick 
step  on  the  stair,  and  the  subject  of  his  thoughts  entered 
the  room. 

This  interesting  young  man  was  a  much  more  aris- 
tocratic person  to  look  upon  than  his  senior.  He  pa 
raded,  so  to  speak,  at  every  point,  the  thoroughbred  air. 
His  thin  and  delicate  nose,  his  clear  eye,  his  high 
though  narrow  forehead,  his  well-cut  lip,  his  firm  chin, 
his  pale  cheek,  his  oval  face,  the  slim  figure,  the  thin, 
long  fingers,  the  spring  of  his  walk,  the  poise  of  his 
head — what  more  could  one  expect  even  from  the  de- 
scendant of  all  the  Howards?  But  this  morning  the 
pallor  of  his  cheek  was  flushed  as  if  with  some  disquiet- 
ing news. 

"  Good-morning,  Harry, "  said  Lord  Jocelyn  quietly. 

Harry  returned  the  greeting.  Then  he  threw  upon 
the  table  a  small  packet  of  papers. 

"  There,  sir,  I  have  read  them ;  thank  you  for  letting 
me  see  them." 

"  Sit  down,  boy,  and  let  us  talk ;  will  you  have  a  ci- 
gar? Wo?  A  cigarette,  then?  No?  You  are  prob- 
ablv  a  little  upset  by  this — new — unexpected  revela- 
tion?" 

"A  liffle  upset!"  repeated  the  young  man,  with  a 
short  laugh. 

"  To  be  sure — to  be  sure — one  could  expect  nothing 
else;  now  sit  down,  and  let  us  talk  over  the  matter 
calmly. " 

The  young  man  sat  down,  but  he  did  not  present  the 
appearance  of  one  inclined  to  talk  over  the  matter 
calmly. 

"In  novels,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  "it  is  always  the 
good  fortune  of  5'oung  gentlemen  brought  up  in  igno- 
rance of  their  parentage  to  turn  out,  when  they  do  dis- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  21 

cover  their  origin,  the  heirs  to  an  illustrious  name ;  I 
have  always  admired  that  in  novels.  In  your  case,  my 
poor  Harry,  the  reverse  is  the  case;  the  distinction 
ought  to  console  j^ou." 

"  Why  was  I  not  told  before?" 

"  Because  the  boyish  brain  is  more  open  to  prejudice 
than  that  of  the  adult ;  because,  among  your  compan- 
ions, you  certainly  would  have  felt  at  a  disadvantage 
had  you  known  yourself  to  be  the  son  of  a " 

You  always  told  me, "  said  HaiTj^  "  that  my  father 
was  in  the  army !" 

"What  do  you  call  a  sergeant  in  a  line  regiment, 
then?" 

"  Oh  !  of  course,  but  among  gentlemen — I  mean — 
among"  the  set  with  whom  I  Avas  brought  up,  to  be  in 
the  army  means  to  have  a  commission." 

"  Yes :  that  was  my  pardonable  deception.  I  thought 
that  you  would  respect  yourself  more  if  you  felt  that 
your  father,  like  the  fathers  of  your  friends,  belonged 
to  the  upper  class.  Now,  my  dear  boy,  you  will  re- 
spect yourself  just  as  much,  although  you  know  that  he 
was  but  a  sergeant,  and  a  brave  fellow  who  fell  at  my 
side  in  the  Indian  Mutiny." 

"  And  my  mother?" 

"I  did  not  know  her;  she  was  dead  before  I  found 
you  out,  and  took  you  from  3^our  Uncle  Bunker." 

"  Uncle  Bunker!"  Harry  laughed,  with  a  little  bitter- 
ness. "  Uncle  Bunker !  Fancy  asking  one's  Uncle 
Bunker  to  dine  at  the  club!     What  is  he  by  trade?" 

"He  is  something  near  a  big  brewery,  a  brewery 
boom,  as  the  Americans  say.  AVhat  he  actually  is,  I 
do  not  quite  know.  He  lives,  if  I  remember  rightly,  at 
a  place  an  immense  distance  from  here,  called  Step- 
ney." 

"  Do  you  know  anj'thing  more  about  my  father's 
family?" 

"  No !  The  sergeant  was  a  tall,  handsome,  well  set-up 
man;  but  I  know  nothing  about  his  connections.  His 
name,  if  that  is  any  help  to  you,  was,  was — in  fact " — 
here  Lord  Jocelyn  assumed  an  air  of  ingratiating  sweet- 
ness— "  was — Goslett — Goslett ;  not  a  bad  name,  I  think, 
pronounced  with  perhaps  a  leaning  to  an  accent  on  the 
last  syllable.     Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Harry?" 


22  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"Oh!  yes,  it  will  do.  Better  than  Bunker,  and  not 
so  good  as  Le  Breton.  As  for  my  Christian  name, 
now?" 

"There  I  ventured  on  one  small  variation." 

"Am  I  not,  then,  even  Harry'?" 

"  Yes,  5^es,  yes,  you  are — now ;  formerly  you  were 
Harry  without  the  H.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  neigh- 
borhood in  which  you  were  born." 

" I  see!  If  I  go  back  among  my  own  people,  I  shall 
be,  then,  once  more  'Arry?" 

"Yes;  and  shout  on  penny  steamers,  and  brandish 
pint  bottles  of  stout,  and  sing  along  the  streets,  in  sim- 
ple abandonment  to  Arcadian  joy ;  and  trample  on  flow- 
ers ;  and  break  pretty  things  for  wantonness ;  and  ex- 
ercise a  rude  but  effective  wit,  known  among  the  an- 
cients as  Fescennine,  upon  passing  ladies;  and  get 
drunk  o'  nights;  and  walk  the  streets  with  a  pipe  in 
your  mouth.  That  is  what  you  would  be,  if  you  went 
back,  my  dear  child." 

Harry  laughed. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  very  difficult  position. 
I  can  no  longer  go  about  pretending  anything ;  I  must 
tell  people." 

"Is  that  absolutely  necessarj^?" 

"  Quite  necessary.  It  will  be  a  deuce  of  a  business, 
explaining." 

"  Shall  we  tell  it  to  one  person,  and  let  him  be  the 
town-crier?" 

"  That,  I  suppose,  would  be  the  best  plan ;  meantime, 
I  could  retire,  while  I  made  some  plans  for  the  future." 

"  Perhaps,  if  you  really  must  tell  the  truth,  it  would 
be  well  to  go  out  of  town  for  a  bit." 

"As  for  myself,"  Harry  continued,  "I  suppose  I  shall 
get  over  the  wrench  after  a  bit.  Just  for  the  moment  I 
feel  knocked  out  of  time." 

"  Keep  the  secret,  then ;  let  it  be  one  between  you  and 
me  only,  Harry;  let  no  one  know." 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

"  Everybody  must  know.  Those  who  refuse  to  keep 
up  the  acquaintance  of  a  private  soldier's  son — well, 
then,  a  non-commissioned  officer's  son — will  probably 
let  me  know  their  decision,  some  way  or  other.  Those 
who  do  not "     He  pa,used. 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  23 

"  Nonsense,  boy ;  who  cares  nowadays  what  a  man  is 
by  birth?  Is  not  this  great  city  full  of  people  who  go 
anywhere,  and  are  nobody's  sons?  Look  here,  and 
here"— he  tossed  half  a  dozen  cards  of  invitation  across 
the  table— "can  you  tell  me  who  these  people  were 
twenty  years  ago — or  these — or  these?" 

"  No :  I  do  not  care  in  the  least  who  they  were.  I 
care  only  that  they  shall  know  who  I  am ;  I  will  not, 
for  my  part,  pretend  to  be  what  I  am  not." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  boy.  Let  the  world  laugh 
if  they  please,  and  have  done  with  it." 

Harry  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room ;  he  cer- 
tainly did  not  look  the  kind  of  a  man  to  give  in ;  to  try 
hiding  things  away.  Quite  the  contrary.  And  he 
laughed — he  took  to  laughing. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  sound  comic  at  first,"  he  said,  "  until 
people  get  used  to  it.  Do  you  know  what  he  turns  out 
to  be?  That  kind  of  thing :  after  all,  we  think  too  much 
about  what  people  say— what  does  it  matter  what  they 
say  or  how  they  say  it?  If  they  like  to  laugh,  they  can. 
Who  shall  be  the  town-crier?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn  slowly,  "of  call- 
ing to-day  upon  Lady  Wimbledon." 

_  The  young  man  laughed,  with  a  little  heightening  of 
his  color. 

"  Of  course — a  very  good  person,  an  excellent  person, 
and  to-morrow  it  will  be  all  over  London.  There  are  one 
or  two  things,"  he  went  on  after  a  moment,  "that  I  do 
not  understand  from  the  papers  which  you  put  into  my 
hands  last  night." 

"What  are  those  things?"  Lord  Jocelj-n  for  a  mo- 
ment looked  uneasy. 

"Well — perhaps  it  is  impertinent  to  ask.  But— 
when  Mr.  Bunker,  the  respectable  Uncle  Bunker,  traded 
me  away,  what  did  he  get  for  me?" 

"Every  bargain  has  two  sides,"  said  Lord  Joceh'n. 
"  You  know  what  I  got,  you  want  to  know  what  the 
honorable  Bunker  got.  Harry,  on  that  point  I  must 
refer  j'ou  to  the  gentleman  himself. " 

"Very  good.  Then  I  come  to  the  next  difficulty— a 
staggerer.  What  did  you  do  it  for?  One  moment,  sir— 
for  Lord  Jocelyn  seemed  about  to  reply.  "One  mo- 
ment.    You  were  rich,  you  were  well  born,  you  were 


24  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

young.  What  on  earth  made  you  pick  a  boy  out  of  the 
gutter  and  bring  him  up  like  a  gentleman?" 

"  You  are  twenty-three,  Harry,  and  yet  you  ask  for 
motiveSo  My  dear  boy,  have  you  not  learned  the  golden 
rule?  In  all  human  actions  look  for  the  basest  motive, 
and  attribute  that.  If  you  see  any  reason  for  stopping 
short  of  quite  the  lowest  spurs  to  action,  such  as  re- 
venge, hatred,  malice,  and  envy,  suppose  the  next  low- 
est, and  you  will  be  quite  safe.  That  next  lowest  is — 
son  altesse,  ma  vanite." 

"  Oh  !  "  replied  Harry,  "  yet  I  fail  to  see  how  a  child 
of  the  lowest  classes  could  supply  any  satisfaction  for 
even  the  next  lowest  of  human  motives." 

"  It  was  partly  in  this  way.  Mind,  I  do  not  for  one 
moment  pretend  to  answer  the  whole  of  your  question. 
Men's  motives,  thank  Heaven,  are  so  mixed  up,  that  no 
one  can  be  quite  a  saint,  vrhile  no  one  is  altogether  a 
sinner.  Nature  is  a  leveller,  which  is  a  comfort  to  us 
who  are  born  in  levelling  times.  In  those  days  I  was 
by  way  of  being  a  kind  of  Radical.  Not  a  Radical  such 
as  those  who  delight  mankind  in  these  happier  days. 
But  I  had  Liberal  leanings,  and  thought  I  had  ideas. 
When  I  was  a  boy  of  twelve  or  so,  there  were  the  '48 
theories  floating  about  the  air;  some  of  them  got  into 
my  brain  and  stuck  there.  Men  used  to  believe  that  a 
great  time  was  coming — perhaps  I  heard  a  whisper  of 
it;  perhaps  I  was  endowed  with  a  greater  faculty  for 
credulity  than  my  neighbors,  and  believed  in  humanity. 
However,  I  do  not  seek  to  explain.  It  may  have  oc- 
curred to  me — I  do  not  say  it  did — but  I  have  a  kind  of 
recollection  as  if  it  did — one  daj^  after  I  had  seen  .you, 
then  in  the  custody  of  the  respectable  Bunker,  that  it 
would  be  an  instructive  and  humorous  thing  to  take  a 
boy  of  the  multitude  and  bring  him  up  in  all  the  culture, 
the  tastes,  the  ideas  of  ourselves — you  and  me,  for  in- 
stance, Harry.  This  idea  may  have  seized  upon  me, 
so  that  the  more  I  tliought  of  it,  the  better  pleased  I 
was  with  it.  I  may  have  pictured  such  a  boy  so 
taught,  so  brought  up,  with  such  tastes,  returning  to 
his  own  people.  Disgust,  I  may  have  said,  w^ill  make 
him  a  prophet ;  and  such  a  prophet  as  the  world  has 
never  j'et  seen.  He  would  be  like  the  follower  of  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountain.     He  would  never  cease  to 


ALL  SORTH  AND  COyDITIOyS  OF  MEN.  25 

dream  of  the  paradise  he  had  seen:  he  would  never 
cease  to  tell  of  it;  he  would  be  always  leading  his 
friends  upward  to  the  same  levels  on  which  he  had  once 
stood." 

"  Humph  !"  said  Harry. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Lord  Jocelyn  went  on.  "  I  ought  to 
have  foretold  that  the  education  I  prepared  for  you 
would  have  unfitted  you  for  the  role  of  prophet.  I  am 
not  disappointed  in  3'ou,  Hany — quite  the  reverse.  I 
now  see  that  what  has  happened  has  been  only  what  I 
should  have  expected.  By  some  remarkable  accident, 
you  possess  an  appearance  such  as  is  generall}^  believed 
to  belong  to  persons  of  long-continued  gentle  descent. 
By  a  still  more  remarkable  accident,  all  your  tastes 
prove  to  be  those  of  the  cultured  classes ;  the  blood  of 
the  Bunkers  has,  in  yourself,  assumed  the  most  azure 
hue." 

"That  is  very  odd,"  said  Harry. 

"It  is  a  very  remarkable  thing,  indeed,"  continued 
Lord  Jocelyn  gravely.  "  I  have  never  ceased  to  won- 
der at  this  phenomenon.  However,  I  was  unable  to 
send  you  to  a  public  school  on  account  of  the  necessity, 
as  I  thought,  of  concealing  your  parentage.  But  I  gave 
you  instruction  of  the  best,  and  found  for  you  compan- 
ions— as  you  know,  among  the " 

"Yes,"  said  Harry.  "My  companions  were  gentle- 
men, I  suppose;  I  learned  from  them." 

"  Perhaps.  Still,  the  earthenware  pot  cannot  become 
a  brass  pot,  whatever  he  may  pretend.  You  were  good 
metal  from  the  beginning." 

"You  are  now,  Harry,"  he  went  on,  "three-and- 
twenty.  You  are  master  of  three  foreign  languages; 
you  have  travelled  on  the  Continent  and  in  America; 
j'ou  are  a  good  rider,  a  good  shot,  a  good  fencer,  a  good 
dancer.  You  can  paint  a  little,  fiddle  a  little,  dance  a 
gi'eat  deal,  act  pretty  well,  speak  pretty  well ;  you  can, 
I  dare  say,  make  love  as  becomes  a  gentleman ;  you  can 
write  very  fair  verses ;  you  are  good-looking,  you  have 
the  air  noble;  you  are  not  a  prig;  j'ou  are  not  an  aes- 
thete; you  possess  your  share  of  common  sense." 

"  One  thing  you  have  omitted  which,  at  the  present 
juncture,  maybe  more  useful  than  any  of  these  things." 

"What  is  that?" 


26  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  You  were  good  enough  to  give  me  a  lathe,  and  to 
have  me  instructed  in  tiie  mysteries  of  turning.  I  am 
a  practical  cabinet-maker,  it'  need  be." 

"  But  why  should  this  be  of  use  to  you?" 

"  Because,  Lord  Jocelyn" — Harry  ran  and  leaned  over 
the  table  with  a  sweet  smile  of  determination  on  his 
face — "because  I  am  going  back  to  my  own  people  for 
a  while,  and  it  may  be  that  the  trade  of  cabinet-making 
may  prove  a  very  backbone  of  strength  to  me  among 
them " 

"  Harry — you  would  not — indeed,  you  could  not  go 
back  to  Bunker?"  Lord  Jocelyn  asked  this  question 
with  every  outward  appearance  of  genuine  alarm. 

"  I  certainly  would.  My  very  kind  guardian  and  pat- 
ron, would  you  stand  in  my  way?  I  want  to  see  those 
people  from  where  I  am  sprung :  I  want  to  learn  how 
they  differ  from  you  and  your  kin.  I  must  compare 
myself  with  them — I  must  prove  the  brotherhood  of 
humanity." 

"You  will  go?  Yes — I  see  you  will — it  is  in  your 
eyes.  Go,  then,  Harry.  But  return  to  me  soon.  The 
slender  fortune  of  a  younger  son  shall  be  shared  with 
you  so  long  as  I  live,  and  given  to  j^ou  when  I  die. 
Do  not  stay  among  them.  There  are,  indeed — at  least, 
I  suppose  so — all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  But  to 
me,  and  to  men  brought  up  like  you  and  me,  I  do  not 
understand  how  there  can  be  any  but  one  sort  and  one 
condition.  Come  back  soon,  boy.  Believe  me — no — ■ 
do  not  believe  me — prove  it  yourself :  in  the  social  pyra- 
mid, the  greatest  happiness,  Harry,  lies  near  the  top." 


CHAPTEH  I. 

NEWS   FOR   HIS   LORDSHIP. 

"I  HAVE  news  for  your  lordship,"  said  Mrs.  Borma- 
lack,  at  the  breakfast-table,  "  something  that  will  cheer 
you  up  a  bit.  We  are  to  have  an  addition  to  our 
family." 

His  lordship  nodded  his  head,  meaning  that  he  would 
receive  her  news  without  more  delay  than  was  neces- 
sary, but  that  at  present  his  mind  was  wholly  occupied 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  27 

with  a  contest  between  one  of  his  teeth  and  a  crust. 
The  tooth  was  an  outlying  one,  all  its  lovely  compan- 
ions having  withered  and  gone,  and  it  was  undefended ; 
the  crust  was  unj-ielding.  For  the  moment  no  one 
could  tell  what  might  be  the  result. 

Her  ladyship  replied  for  him. 

Lady  Davenant  was  a  small  woman,  if  you  go  by 
inches ;  her  exalted  rank  gave  her,  however,  a  dignity 
designed  for  very  much  larger  persons;  yet  she  carried 
it  with  ease.  She  was  by  no  means  young,  and  her 
hair  was  thin  as  well  as  gray;  her  face,  which  was 
oval  and  delicately  curved,  might  formerly  have  been 
beautiful;  the  eyes  were  bright  and  eager,  and  con- 
stantly in  motion,  as  is  often  the  case  with  restless  and 
nervous  persons ;  her  lips  were  thin  and  as  full  of  inde- 
pendent action  as  her  eyes ;  she  had  thin  hands,  so  small 
that  they  might  have  belonged  to  a  child  of  eight,  when 
inclined  for  vaunting,  the  narrowest  and  most  sloping 
shoulders  that  ever  were  seen,  so  sloping  that  people 
unaccustomed  to  her  were  wont  to  tremble  lest  the 
whole  of  her  dress  should  suddenly  slide  straight  down 
those  shoulders,  as  down  a  slope  of  ice;  and  strange 
ladies,  impelled  by  this  apprehension,  had  been  known 
to  ask  her  in  a  friendly  whisper  if  she  could  thoroughly 
depend  upon  the  pins  at  her  throat.  As  Mrs.  Borma- 
lack  often  said,  speaking  of  her  noble  boarders  among 
her  friends,  those  shoulders  of  her  ladyship  were  "  quite 
a  feature."  Next  to  the  pride  of  having  at  her  table 
such  guests — who,  however,  did  not  give  in  to  the  good 
old  English  custom  of  paying  double  prices  for  having 
a  title — was  the  distinction  of  pointing  to  those  unique 
shoulders  and  of  talking  about  them. 

Her  ladyship  hail  a  shrill,  reedy  voice,  and  spoke 
loudly.  It  was  remarked  by  the  most  superficial  ob- 
server, moreover,  that  she  possessed  a  very  strong  Amer- 
ican accent. 

"At  our  first  boarding-house,"  she  said,  replying  in- 
directly to  the  landlady's  remark,  ''at  our  first  board- 
ing-house, which  was  in  Wellclose  Square,  next  to  the 
Board  Schools,  there  was  a  man  who  once  actually 
slapped  his  lordship  on  the  back.  And  then  he 
laughed !  To  he  sure,  he  was  only  a  Dane,  but  the  dis- 
respect was  just  the  same." 


28  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  lordship,  who  now  spoke,  having 
compromised  matters  with  the  crust,  "  tiie  ignominy  of 
being-  slapped  on  the  back  by  a  powerful  sea-captain  is 
hardly  to  be  weighed  in  comparison  with  the  physical 
pain  it  causes." 

"We  are  quite  sure,  however,  Mrs.  Bormalack,"  the 
lady  went  on,  "  that  you  will  admit  none  under  your 
roof  but  those  prepared  to  respect  rank;  we  want  no 
levellers  or  mischievous  Radicals  for  our  companions." 

"  It  is  to  be  a  young  lady, "  said  Mrs.  Bormalack. 

"  Young  ladies,  at  all  events,  do  iiot  slap  gentlemen 
on  the  back,  whether  they  are  noblemen  or  not,"  said 
his  lordship  kindly.  "  We  shall  be  happy  to  welcome 
her,  ma'am." 

This  ornament  of  the  Upper  House  was  a  big,  fat 
man,  with  a  face  like  a  full  moon.  His  features  were 
not  distinctly  aristocratic ;  his  cheeks  were  flabby  and 
his  nose  broad ;  also  he  had  a  double  chin.  His  long 
hair  was  a  soft,  creamy  white,  the  kind  of  white  which 
in  old  age  follows  a  manhood  of  red  hair.  He  sat  in  an 
arm-chair  at  the  end  of  the  table,  with  his  elbows  on  the 
arms,  as  if  he  desired  to  get  as  much  rest  out  of  the 
chair  as  possible.  His  eyes  were  very  soft  and  dreamy ; 
his  expression  was  that  of  a  man  who  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  live  in  the  quieter  parts  of  the  world.  He, 
too,  spoke  with  a  marked  American  accent  and  with 
slowness,  as  if  measuring  his  words,  and  appreciating 
himself  their  importance.  The  dignity  of  his  manner 
w^as  not  wholly  due  to  his  position,  but  in  great  meas- 
ure to  his  former  profession.  For  his  lordship  had  not 
always  rejoiced  in  his  present  dignity,  nor,  in  fact,  had 
he  been  brought  up  to  it.  Persons  intending  to  be- 
come peers  of  Great  Britain  do  not,  as  a  rule,  first  spend 
more  than  forty  years  as  schoolmasters  in  their  native 
town.  And  just  as  clergymen,  and  especially  young 
clergymen,  love  to  talk  loud,  because  it  makes  people 
remember  that  they  are  in  the  presence  of  those  whose 
wisdom  demands  attention,  so  old  schoolmasters  speak 
slowly  because  their  words — even  the  lightest,  which 
are  usually  pretty  heavy — have  got  to  be  listened  to, 
under  penalties. 

As  soon,  however,  as  he  began  to  "enjoy  the  title," 
the  ex-schoolmaster  addressed  himself  with  some  care 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  29 

to  the  cultivation  of  a  manner  which  he  thought  due  to 
his  position.  It  was  certainlj^  pompous;  it  was  in- 
tended to  be  affable ;  it  was  naturally,  because  he  was 
a  man  of  a  most  kind  disposition  and  an  excellent  heart, 
courteous  and  considerate. 

"  I  am  rejoiced,  Mrs.  Bormalack,"  he  went  on  grandl}'', 
and  with  a  bow,  "  that  we  are  to  be  cheered  in  our  do- 
mestic circle  by  the  addition  of  a  young  lady.  It  is  an 
additional  proof,  if  any  were  needed,  of  the  care  with 
which  you  consider  the  happiness  of  your  guests."  The 
professor,  who  owed  for  five  weeks,  murmured  that  no 
one  felt  it  more  than  himself.  "Sometimes,  ma'am,  I 
own  that  even  with  the  delightful  society  of  j^ourself  " 
(*' O  my  lord,  your  lordship  is  too  kind,"  said  Mrs. 
Bormalack)  "and  of  the  accomplished  professor" — 
here  he  bowed  to  the  professor,  who  nodded  and  spread 
out  his  hands  professionally — "  and  of  the  learned  Mr. 
Daniel  Fagg" — here  he  bowed  to  Mr.  Fagg,  who  took 
no  notice  at  all,  because  he  was  thinking  of  his  triangles 
and  was  gazing  straight  before  him — "''  and  of  Mr.  Jo- 
sephus  Coppins" — here  he  bowed  to  Josephus  Coppins, 
who  humbly  inclined  his  head  without  a  smile — "  and 
of  Mr.  Maliphant" —  here  he  bowed  to  Mr.  Maliphant, 
who  with  a  breakfast  knife  was  trying  to  make  a  knobly 
crust  assume  the  shape  of  a  human  head,  in  fact  the  head 
of  Mr.  Gladstone — "  and  of  Mr.  Harry  Goslett,  who  is 
not  with  us  so  much  as  we  could  desire  of  so  sprightly 
a  young  man ;  and  surrounded  as  we  are  by  all  the  gay- 
ety  and  dissipation  and  splendor  of  London,  I  some- 
times suspect  that  we  are  not  always  so  cheerful  as  we 
might  be." 

"Give  me,"  said  his  wife,  folding  her  little  hands 
and  looking  round  her  with  a  warlike  expression,  as  if 
inviting  contradiction — "give  me  Canaan  Cit}",  New 
Hampshire,  for  gayet}'." 

Nobody  combated  this  position,  nor  did  anybod}"  re- 
ply at  all,  unless  the  pantomime  of  the  professor  was 
intended  for  a  reply  by  gesture,  like  the  learned  Thau- 
mast.  For,  with  precision  and  abstracted  air,  he  rolled 
up  a  little  ball  of  bread,  about  as  big  as  a  marble,  placed 
it  in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  closed  his  fingers  upon 
it,  and  then  opened  them,  showing  that  the  ball  had 
vanished.      Then   he    executed   the    slightest   possible 


80  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

shrug  of  his  shoulders,  spread  out  his  hands,  and  nodded 
to  his  lordship,  saying,  with  a  sweet  smile : 

■'Pretty  thing,  isn't  it?" 

"I  hope,  sir,  that  she  will  be  pretty,"  said  his  lord- 
ship, thinking  of  the  young  lady.  "  To  look  at  a  pretty 
face  is  as  good  as  a  day  of  sunshine." 

"She  is  a  beautiful  girl,"  Mrs.  Bormalack  replied 
with  enthusiasm,  "  and  I  am  sure  she  must  be  as  good 
as  she  is  pretty ;  because  she  paid  three  months  in  ad- 
vance. With  a  piano,  too,  which  she  will  play  her- 
self. She  is  a  dressmaker  by  trade,  and  she  wants  to 
set  herself  up  in  a  genteel  way.  And  she's  got  a  little 
money,  she  sa3's ;"  a  sweet  smile  crossed  her  face  as  she 
thought  that  most  of  this  little  money  would  come  into 
her  own  pocket. 

"A  dressmaker!"  cried  her  ladyship.  "Do  tell!  I 
was  in  that  line  myself  before  I  married.  That  was 
long  before  we  began  to  enjoy  the  title.  You  don't 
know,  ma'am" — here  she  dropped  her  voice — "  you  don't 
know  how  remarkably  fond  his  lordship  is  of  a  pretty 
face;  choice  with  them,  too.  Not  every  face  pleases 
him.  Oh!  you  wouldn't  believe  how  particular.  Which 
shows  his  aristocratic  descent;  because  we  all  know 
what  his  ancestors  were." 

"  To  be  sure, "  said  the  landlady,  nodding  signifi- 
cantly. "We  all  know  what  they  were.  Rovers  to 
a  man — I  mean  a  lord.  And  as  for  the  young  lady, 
she  will  be  here  this  evening,  in  time  for  tea.  Shrimps 
and  Sally  Lunn,  my  lord.  And  her  name  is  Miss  Ken- 
nedy. Respectable,  if  poor ;  and  illustrious  ancestors  is 
more  than  we  can  all  of  us  have,  nor  yet  deserve." 

Here  the  professor  rose,  having  finished  his  break- 
fast. One  might  have  noticed  that  he  had  extremely 
long  and  delicate  fingers,  and  that  they  seemed  alwa5"S 
in  movement;  also  that  he  had  a  way  of  looking  at  you 
as  if  he  meant  you  to  look  straight  and  steady  into  his 
eyes,  and  not  to  go  rolling  your  eyes  about  in  the  frivo- 
lous, irresponsible  way  affected  by  some  people.  He 
walked  slowly  to  the  window ;  then,  as  if  seized  with 
an  irresistible  impulse  to  express  his  feelings  in  panto- 
mime, or  else,  it  may  be,  to  try  an  experiment,  returned 
to  the  table,  and  asked  for  the  loan  of  his  lordship's 
pocket-handkerchief,  which  Vv^as  a  large  red  silk  one. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  31 

well  fitted  for  the  purpose.  How  he  conve3*od  a  saucer 
uuseen  from  the  table  into  that  handkerchief,  and  how 
that  saucer  got  into  the  nobleman's  coat-tail  pocket, 
were  things  known  only  to  himself.  Yet  familiarity 
breeds  contempt,  and  though  everybody  looked  on,  no- 
body expressed  delight  or  astonishment,  for  this  exhibi- 
tion of  magic  and  spells  went  on  every  day,  and  when- 
ever the  professor  was  among  them.  He  moved  about 
accompanied,  so  to  speak,  by  a  legion  of  invisible  at- 
tendants and  servants,  who  conveyed,  hid,  brought  back, 
uncovered,  discovered,  recovered,  lost,  found,  rapped, 
groaned,  cried,  whistled,  sang,  moved  chairs  and  ta- 
bles, and,  in  fact,  behaved  as  only  a  troop  of  well- 
drilled  elves  can  behave.  He  was  a  young  man  of 
twenty-five,  and  he  had  a  great  gift  of  silence.  By 
trade  he  was  a  professor  of  legerdemain.  Other  pro- 
fessors there  are  who  hold  up  the  light  of  this  science, 
and  hand  it  down  to  posterity  undimmed;  but  none 
with  such  an  ardent  love  for  their  work  as  Professor 
Climo.  For  he  practised  all  daj^  long,  except  when  he 
was  reading  the  feats  of  the  illustrious  conjurers,  sor- 
cerers, necromancers,  and  wizards  of  old  time,  or  in- 
venting new  combinations,  traps  for  the  credulous, 
and  contrivances  to  make  that  which  was  not  seen  like 
unto  that  which  was.  The  East  End  of  London  is  not 
the  richest  field  for  such  performers ;  but  he  was  3'oung, 
and  he  lived  in  hope — very  often,  when  there  were  no 
engagements — upon  it.  At  such  times  ho  became  a 
simi)le  lodger,  instead  of  a  boarder,  at  Mrs.  Bormu- 
hick's,  and  went  without  any  meals. 

The  situation  of  this  boarding-house,  poetically  de- 
scribed by  his  lordship  as  in  the  midst  of  the  gayety  of 
London,  was  in  the  far  East,  in  that  region  of  London 
which  is  less  known  to  Englishmen  than  if  it  were  sit- 
uated in  the  wildest  part  of  Colorado,  or  among  the 
pine  forests  of  British  Columbia.  It  stood,  in  fact, 
upon  Stepney  Green,  a  small  strip  of  Eden  which  has 
been  visited  by  few,  indeed,  of  those  who  do  not  live  in 
its  immediate  vicinity.     Yet  it  is  a  romantic  spot. 

Two  millions  of  people,  or  thereabouts,  live  in  the 
East  End  of  London.  That  seems  a  good-sized  popula- 
tion for  an  utterly  unknoAvn  town.  They  have  n(^  in- 
stitutions of  their  own  to  speak  of,  no  public  buildings 


33  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

of  any  importance,  no  municipality,  no  gentry,  no  car- 
riages, no  soldiers,  no  picture-galleries,  no  theatres,  no 
opera — they  have  nothing.  It  is  the  fashion  to  believe 
that  they  are  all  paupers,  which  is  a  foolish  and  mis- 
chievous belief,  as  we  shall  presently  see.  Probably 
there  is  no  such  spectacle  in  the  whole  world  as  that  of 
this  immense,  neglected,  forgotten  great  city  of  East 
London.  It  is  even  neglected  by  its  own  citizens,  who 
have  never  yet  perceived  their  abandoned  condition. 
They  are  Londoners,  it  is  true,  but  they  have  no  part 
or  share  of  London ;  its  wealth,  its  splendors,  its  hon- 
ors exist  not  for  them.  They  see  nothing  of  any  splen- 
dors; even  tlie  Lord  Mayor's  show  goeth  westward: 
the  city  lies  between  them  and  the  greatness  of  Eng- 
land. They  are  beyond  the  wards,  and  cannot  become 
aldermen;  the  rich  London  merchants  go  north  and 
south  and  west;  but  they  go  not  east.  Nobody  goes 
east ;  no  one  wants  to  see  the  place ;  no  one  is  curious 
about  the  way  of  life  in  the  east.  Books  on  London 
pass  it  over ;  it  has  little  or  no  history ;  great  men  are 
not  buried  in  its  church-yards,  which  are  not  even  an- 
cient, and  crow^ded  by  citizens  as  obscure  as  those  who 
now  breathe  the  upper  airs  about  them.  If  anything 
happens  in  the  east,  people  at  the  other  end  have  to 
stop  and  think  before  they  can  remember  where  the 
place  may  be. 

The  house  was  old,  built  of  red  bricks  with  a  "shell" 
decoration  over  the  door.  It  contained  room  for  about 
eight  boarders,  who  had  one  sitting-room  in  common. 
This  was  the  breakfast-room,  a  meal  at  which  all  were 
present;  the  dining-room — but  nobody  except  his  lord- 
ship and  wife  dined  at  home;  the  tea-room — but  tea 
was  too  early  for  most  of  the  boarders ;  and  the  supper- 
room.  After  supper  tobacco  was  tolerated.  The 
boarders  were  generally  men,  and  mostly  elderly  men 
of  staid  and  quiet  manners,  with  whom  the  evening 
pipe  was  the  conclusion  and  solace  of  the  day.  It  was 
not  like  the  perpetual  incense  of  the  tqp-room,  and  yet 
the  smell  of  tobacco  was  never  absent  from  the  room, 
lingering  about  the  folds  of  the  dingy  curtain,  which 
served  for  both  summer  and  winter,  clinging  to  the 
horsehair  sofa,  to  the  leather  of  the  chairs,  and  to  the 
rusty  table-cloth. 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIO XS  OF  MEN.  33 

The  furniture  was  old  and  mean.  The  wall-paper 
had  once  been  crimson,  but  now  was  only  dark;  the 
ceiling  had  for  many  years  wanted  whitewashing  bad- 
ly ;  the  door  and  windows  wanted  painting ;  the  win- 
dows always  wanted  cleaning ;  the  rope  of  one  of  the 
blinds  was  broken ;  and  the  blind  itself,  not  nearly  so 
white  as  it  might  have  been,  Avas  pinned  half-wa}'  up. 
Everything  was  shabb}* ;  everj'thing  wanted  polishing, 
washing,  brightening  up. 

A  couple  of  arm-chairs  stood,  when  meals  were  not 
going  on,  one  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace — one  being 
reserved  for  his  lordship,  and  the  other  for  his  wife; 
the)^  were,  like  the  sofa,  of  horsehair,  and  slippery. 
There  was  a  long  table  covered  bj'  a  faded  red  cloth ;  the 
carpet  was  a  Brussels  once  of  a  warm  crimson,  now 
worn  threadbare;  the  hearth-rug  was  worn  into  holes; 
one  or  two  of  the  chairs  had  broken  out  and  showed 
glimpses  of  stuffing.  The  sideboard  was  of  old-fash- 
ioned build,  and  a  shiny  black  by  reason  of  its  age; 
there  were  two  or  three  hanging  shelves  filled  with 
books,  the  property  of  his  lordship,  who  loved  reading, 
the  mantel-shelf  was  decorated  by  a  small  collection  of 
pipes ;  and  above  it  hung  the  portrait  of  the  late  Samuel 
Bormalack,  formerly  a  collector  in  the  great  brewing 
house  of  Messenger,,  Marsden  &  Compan}-. 

His  widow,  who  carried  on  the  house,  was  a  comfort- 
able— a  serenely  comfortable  woman,  who  regarded  the 
world  from  the  optimist's  point  of  view.  Perfect  health 
and  a  tolerably  prosperous  business,  where  the  returns 
are  regular  though  the  profits  are  small,  make  the  pos- 
sessor agree  with  Pope  and  Candide  that  everything  is 
for  the  best  in  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds.  Impos- 
sible not  to  be  contented,  happy,  and  religious,  when 
5'our  wishes  are  narrowed  to  a  tidy  dinner,  a  comforta- 
ble supper  with  a  little  something  hot,  boarders  who 
pay  up  regular,  do  not  grumble,  and  go  to  bed  sober; 
and  a  steady  hope  that  you  will  not  get  "something," 
by  which  of  course  is  meant  that  you  may  not  fall  ill 
of  any  disagreeable  or  painful  disease.  To  "  get  some- 
thing" is  one  of  the  pretty  euphemisms  of  our  daily 
speech. 

She  had  had  one  or  two  unlucky  accidents,  such  as 
the  case  of  Captain  Saffrey,  who  stayed  two  months, 
3 


34  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

and  drank  enough  beer  to  float  a  three-decker,  and  then 
sailed  away,  promising  to  pay,  and  would  have  done 
so — for  he  was  an  honest  man — but  had  the  misfortune 
to  fall  overboard  while  in  liquor.  But  her  present 
boarders  seemed  most  respectable,  and  she  was  at  ease. 

Of  course,  the  persons  of  greatest  consideration  among 
them  were  the  noble  pair  who  enjoyed  the  title.  Rank 
is  respected,  if  you  please,  even  at  the  East  End  of 
London,  and  perhaps  more  there  than  in  fashionable 
quarters,  because  it  is  so  rare.  King  John,  it  is  true, 
had  once  a  palace  at  Stepney;  but  that  is  a  long  time 
to  look  back  upon,  and  even  the  oldest  inhabitant  can 
now  not  remember  to  have  been  kicked  by  the  choleric 
monarch.  Then  the  Marquis  of  Worcester  had  once  a 
great  house  here,  what  time  the  sainted  Charles  was 
ripening  things  for  a  row  royal.  That  house  is  gone 
too,  and  I  do  not  know  where  it  used  to  stand.  From 
the  time  of  this  East  End  marquis  to  the  arrival  of 
Lord  and  Lady  Davenant,  last  year,  there  have  been 
no  resident  members  of  the  English  aristocracy^  and  no 
member  of  the  foreign  nobilit}^,  wath  the  exception  of  a 
certain  dusky  Marquis  of  Choufleur,  froin  Hayti,  who 
is  reported  on  good  authority  to  have  once  lived  in  these 
parts  for  six  months,  thinking  he  was  in  the  politest 
and  most  fashionable  suburb  of  London.  He  is  further 
said  to  have  carried  on  with  Satanic  wildness  in  Lime- 
house  and  the  West  India  Dock  Road  of  an  evening. 
A  Japanese,  too,  certainly  once  went  to  a  hotel  in 
America  Square,  which  is  not  quite  the  East  End,  and 
said  he  was  a  prince  in  his  own  countr}'.  He  stayed  a 
week,  and  drank  champagne  all  day  long.  Then  he 
decamped  without  paying  the  bill ;  and  when  the  land- 
lord went  to  the  embassy  to  complain,  he  thought  it 
was  the  ambassador  himself,  until  he  discovered  that 
all  Japanese  are  exactly  alike.  Wherefore  he  desisted 
from  any  further  attempt  to  identify  the  missing  prince 
for  want  of  the  missing  link,  namely,  some  distinctive 
feature. 

The  illustrious  pair  had  now  been  in  the  house  for  six 
weeks.  Previously  they  had  spent  some  time  in  Well- 
close  Square,  which  is  no  doubt  well  known  to  fashion- 
able readers,  and  lies  contiguous  to  St.  George's  Street. 
Here  happened  that  accident  of  the  back-slr»pping  so 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  35 

frequently  alluded  to  by  her  lad3'ship.  They  were  come 
from  America  to  take  up  an  old  family  title  Avliicli  had 
been  in  abeyance  for  two  or  three  generations.  Tlicy 
appeared  to  be  poor,  but  able  to  find  the  modest  weekly 
sum  asked  b}'  Mrs.  Bormalack ;  and  in  order  to  secure 
her  confidence  and  good- will,  the}-  paid  every  week  in 
advance.  They  drank  nothing  but  water,  but,  to  make 
up,  his  lordship  ate  a  great  deal,  especially  at  breakfart, 
and  they  asked  for  strange  things,  unknown  to  English 
households.  In  other  respects  they  gave  no  kind  of 
trouble,  were  easily  satisfied,  never  grumbled,  and  were 
affable.  For  their  rank  they  certainl}-  dressed  shabbil}^ 
but  high  social  station  is  sometimes  found  coupled  with 
eccentricity.  Doubtless  Lord  Davenant  had  his  reasons 
for  going  about  in  a  coat  white  at  the  seams  and  shiny 
at  the  back,  which,  being  made  of  sympathetic  stuff, 
and  from  long  habit,  had  assumed  the  exact  shape  of 
his  noble  back  and  shoulders,  with  a  beautiful  model 
of  his  illustrious  elbows.  For  similarly  good  and  suffi- 
cient reasons  Lady  Davenant  wore  that  old  black  gown 
and  those  mended  gloves  and — but  it  is  cruel  to  enu- 
merate the  shortcomings  of  her  attire. 

Perhaps  on  account  of  this  public  character,  the  pro- 
fessor would  rank  in  the  house  after  his  lordship.  Noth- 
ing confers  greatness  more  quickly  than  an  unabashed 
appearance  upon  a  platform.  Mr.  Maliphant,  however, 
who  had  travelled  and  could  relate  tales  of  adventure, 
might  dispute  precedence  with  him.  He  was  now  a 
carver  of  figure-heads  for  ships.  It  is  an  old  and  hon- 
orable trade,  but  in  these  latter  days  it  has  deca3-ed. 
He  had  a  small  j-ard  at  Limehouse,  where  he  worked 
all  by  himself,  turning  out  heads  in  the  rough  so  that 
they  might  be  transformed  into  a  beauteous  goddess, 
or  a  Saucy  Poll,  or  a  bearded  Neptune,  as  the  owners 
might  prefer.  He  was  now  an  old  man  with  a  crumpled 
and  million-lined  face,  but  active  still  and  talkative. 
His  memory  played  him  tricks,  and  he  took  little  inter- 
est in  new  things.  He  had  a  habit,  too,  which  discon- 
certed people  unaccustomed  to  him,  of  thinking  one 
part  of  the  reminiscence  to  himself  and  saying  the  rest 
aloud,  so  that  one  got  onl}'  the  torso  or  mangled  tir.nk 
of  the  story,  or  the  liead,  or  the  feet,  with  or  without 
the  tail,  which  is  the  point. 


?6  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

The  learned  Daniel  Fagg,  wrapt  always  in  contem- 
plation, was  among  them  but  not  of  them.  He  was 
lately  arrived  from  Australia,  bringing  with  him  a  dis- 
covery which  took  away  the  breath  of  those  who  heard 
it,  and  tilled  all  the  scholars  and  learned  men  of  Eu- 
rope with  envy  and  hatred,  so  that  they  combined  and 
formed  a  general  conspiracy  to  keep  him  down,  and  to 
prevent  the  publication  of  his  great  book,  lest  the  world 
should  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  them,  and  laugh  at 
the  blindness  of  its  great  ones.  Daniel  himself  said  so, 
and  an  oppressed  man  generally  knows  his  oppressor. 
He  went  away  every  morning  after  breakfast,  and  re- 
turned for  tea.  He  was  believed  to  occupy  the  day  in 
spreading  a  knowledge  of  his  discovery,  the  nature  of 
which  was  unknown  at  the  boarding-house,  among 
clerg3"men  and  other  scholars.  In  the  evening  he  sat 
over  a  Hebrew  Bible  and  a  dictionary,  and  spoke  to  no 
one.  A  harmless  man,  but  soured  and  disajjpointed 
with  the  cold  reception  of  his  great  discovery. 

Another  boarder  was  the  unfortunate  Josephus  Cop- 
pin,  who  was  a  clerk  in  the  great  brewing-house  of 
Messenger,  Marsden  &  Company.  He  had  been  there 
for  forty  years,  being  now  fifty-five  years  of  age,  gray 
and  sad  of  face,  because,  for  some  reason  unknown  to 
the  world,  he  was  not  advanced,  but  remained  forever 
among  the  juniors  at  a  salary  of  thirty  shillings  a  week. 
Other  men  of  his  own  standing  were  chief  brewers,  col- 
lectors, and  chief  accountants.  He  was  almost  where 
he  had  started.  The  j'oung  men  came  and  mounted 
the  ladder  of  promotion,  passing  him  one  after  the 
other ;  he  alone  remained  upon  the  rung  which  he  had 
reached  one  day,  now  thirty  years  bygone,  when  a  cer- 
tain thing  hai3pened,  the  consequences  of  which  were  to 
keep  him  down,  to  ruin  his  prospects,  to  humiliate  and 
degrade  him,  to  sadden  and  embitter  his  whole  life. 
Lastly,  there  was  a  young  man,  the  only  young  man 
among  them,  one  Harrj^  Goslett  by  name,  who  had 
quite  recently  joined  the  boarding-house.  He  was  a 
nephew  of  Mr.  Coppin,  and  was  supposed  to  be  looking 
for  a  place  of  business. 

But  he  was  an  uncertain  boarder.  He  paid  for  his 
dinner  but  never  dined  at  home;  he  had  brought  with 
him  a  lathe,  Avhich  he  set  up  in  a  little  garden-house, 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  '^ 

and  here  he  work(>d  by  himself,  but  in  a  fitful,  lazy  way, 
as  if  it  mattered  nothing  whether  he  worked  or  nor. 
He  seemed  to  prefer  strolling  aljout  tlie  place,  looking 
around  him  as  if  he  had  never  seen  thmgs  before,  and 
he  was  wont  to  speak  of  familiar  objects  as  if  the}'  were 
strange  and  rare.  These  eccentricities  were  regarded 
as  due  to  his  having  been  to  America.  A  handsome 
young  man  and  cheerful,  which  made  it  a  greater  pity 
that  he  was  so  idle. 

On  this  morning  the  first  to  start  for  the  day's  busi- 
ness was  Daniel  Fagg.  He  put  his  Hebrew  Bible  on 
the  book-shelf,  took  out  a  memorandum-book  and  the 
stumjj  of  a  pencil,  made  an  entry,  and  then  counted  out 
his  money,  which  amounted  to  eight-and-sixpence,  with 
a  sigh.  He  was  a  little  man,  about  sixty  3-ears  of  age, 
and  his  thin  hair  v/as  sandy  in  color.  His  face  was 
thin,  and  he  looked  hungry  and  underfed.  I  believe, 
in  fact,  that  he  seldom  had  money  enough  for  dinner, 
and  so  went  without.  Nothing  was  remarkable  in  his 
face,  except  a  pair  of  very  large  and  thick  eyebrows, 
also  of  sandy  hue,  which  is  unusual,  and  produces  a 
very  curious  effect.  With  these  he  was  wont  to  frown 
tremendously  as  he  went  along,  frightening  the  little 
children  into  fits ;  when  he  was  not  frowning  he  looked 
dejected.  It  must  have  been  an  unhappy  condition  of 
things  which  made  the  poor  man  thus  alternate  between 
wrath  and  depression.  There  were,  however,  moments 
— those  when  he  got  hold  of  a  new  listener — in  which 
he  would  light  up  with  enthusiasm  as  he  detailed  the 
history  of  his  discovery.  Then  the  thin,  drawn  cheek 
would  fill  out,  and  his  quivering  lips  would  become 
firm,  and  his  dejected  ej'es  would  brighten  with  the  old 
pride  of  discovery,  and  he  would  laugh  once  more,  and 
rub  his  hands  with  pride,  when  he  described  the  honest 
sympathy  of  the  people  in  the  Australian  township 
where  he  first  announced  the  great  revelation  he  was 
to  make  to  the  world,  and  received  their  enthusiastic 
cheers  and  shouts  of  encouragement. 

Harrj^  Goslett  was  his  last  listener,  and,  as  the  en- 
thusiast thought,  his  latest  convert. 

As  Daniel  passed  out  of  the  dining-room,  and  was 
looking  for  his  hat  among  the  collection  of  hats  as  bad 
as  was  ever  seen  out  of  Canadian  backwoods,  Harry 


38  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Goslett  himself  came  downstairs,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  as  slowy  and  lazily  as  if  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  work  to  do  or  time  to  keep.  He  laughed  and 
nodded  to  the  discoverer. 

"Oho!  Dan'l,"  he  said;  "hoAV  are  the  triangles?  and 
are  you  really  going  back  to  the  lion's  den?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Goslett,  I  am  going  back  there !  I  am  not 
afraid  of  them ;  I  am  going  to  see  the  head  of  the 
Egyptian  department.  He  says  he  will  give  me  a  hear- 
ing ;  they  all  said  t\\ej  would,  and  they  have.  But  they 
won't  listen;  it's  no  use  to  hear  unless  you  listen. 
What  a  dreadful  thing  is  jealousy  among  the  learned, 
Mr.  Goslett!" 

"It  is  indeed,  my  prophet;  have  they  subscribed  to 
the  book?" 

"No!  they  won't  subscribe.  Is  it  likely  that  they 
will  help  to  bring  out  a  work  which  proves  them  all 
wrong?  Come,  sir,  eA'en  at  your  age  you  can't  think 
so  well  of  poor  humanity." 

"  Daniel" —  the  j^oung  man  laid  his  hands  impres- 
sively  ujDon  the  little  man's  shoulders — "  you  show^ed  me 
yesterday  a  list  of  forty-five  subscribers  to  your  book, 
at  twelve  shillings  and  sixpence  apiece.  Where  is  that 
subscription-money  ?  " 

The  poor  man  blushed  and  hung  his  head. 

"  A  man  must  live,"  he  said  at  length,  trying  to  frown 
fiercel}'. 

"  Yes,  but  unpleasant  notice  is  sometimes  taken  of  the 
way  in  which  peoj^le  live,  iwj  dear  friend.  This  is  not 
a  free  country ;  not  bj^  any  means  free.  If  I  were  you, 
I  would  take  the  triangles  back  to  Australia,  and  print 
the  book  there,  among  your  friends." 

"No!"  The  little  man  stamped  on  the  ground,  and 
rammed  his  head  into  his  hat  wdth  determination. 
"  No,  Mr.  Goslett,  and  no  again.  It  shall  be  printed 
here.  I  xAW  hurl  it  at  the  head  of  the  so-called  scholars 
here,  in  London — in  their  stronghold,  close  to  the  Brit- 
ish Museum.  Besides" — here  he  relaxed,  and  turned  a 
pitiful  face  of  sorrow  and  shame  upon  his  adviser — 
"  besides,  can  I  forget  the  day  when  I  left  Australia? 
They  all  came  aboard  to  say  good-by.  The  papers  had 
paragraphs  about  it.  They  shouted  one  after  the  other, 
and  nobblers  went  around  surprising,  and  they  slapped 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEX.  39 

me  on  the  back  and  said,  'Go,  Dan'l,' or 'Go,  Fagg,'or 
'Go,Mr.  Fagg, '  according  to  their  intimac}'  and  the  depth 
of  their  friendship — 'Go  where  honor  and  glory  and  a 
great  fortune,  with  a  pension  on  the  Queen's  civil-list, 
are  waiting  for  yon.'  On  the  A'oyage  I  even  dreamed 
of  a  title ;  I  thought  Sir  Daniel  Fagg,  knight  or  baro- 
net, or  the  Right  Reverend  Lord  Fagg,  would  sound 
well  to  go  back  to  Australia  with.  Honor?  Glor}'?, 
Fortuned  where  are  they?  Eight-and-sixpence  in  my 
pocket ;  and  the  head  of  the  Greek  department  calls  me 
a  fool,  because  I  won't  acknowledge  that  truth — yes, 
TRUTH— is  error.  Laughs  at  the  triangles,  Mr.  Goslett !" 

He  laughed  bitterly  and  went  out,  slamming  the 
door  behind  him. 

Then  Harr}'  entered  the  breakfast-room,  nodding 
pleasantly  to  everybody ;  and  without  any  apolog}"  for 
lateness,  as  if  breakfast  could  be  kept  about  all  the 
morning  to  suit  his  convenience,  sat  down  and  began 
to  eat.  Jonathan  Coppin  got  up,  sighed,  and  went  away 
to  his  brewery.  The  professor  looked  at  the  last  comer 
with  a  meditative  air,  as  if  he  would  like  to  make  him 
disappear,  and  could  do  it,  too,  but  v/as  uncertain  how 
Harry  would  take  it.  Mrs.  Bormalack  hurried  away 
on  domestic  business.  Mr.  Maliphant  laughed  and 
rubbed  his  hands  together,  and  then  laughed  again  as 
if  he  were  thinking  of  something  really  comic,  and 
said,  "  Yes,  I  kncAv  the  sergeant  very  weU ;  a  well  set- 
up man  he  was,  and  Caroline  Coppin  was  a  pretty  girl." 
At  this  }X)int  his  face  clouded  and  his  e3*es  expressed 
doubt.  "  There  was, "  he  added,  "  something  I  wanted 
to  ask  3"ou,  young  man,  something  " — here  he  tapped 
his  forehead — ''  something  about  3'our  father  or  3'our 
mother,  or  both;  but  I  have  forgotten — never  mind. 
Another  time — another  time." 

He  ran  away  with  bayish  activity  and  a  schoolboy's 
laugh,  being  arrived  at  that  time  of  life  when  one  be- 
comes light  of  heart  once  more,  knowing  by  experience 
that  nothing  matters  very  much.  There  were  none  left 
in  the  room  but  the  couple  who  enjoyed  the  title. 

His  lordship  sat  in  his  arm-chair,  apparently  enjoy- 
ing it,  in  meditation  and  repose;  this,  one  perceives, 
is  quite  the  best  way  of  enjoj'ing  an  hereditary  title,  if 
you  come  to  it  late  in  life. 


40  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

His  wife  had,  meanwhile,  got  out  a  little  shabby 
portfolio  in  black  leather,  and  was  turning  over  the 
papers  with  impatience ;  now  and  then  she  looked  up  to 
see  whether  this  late  young  man  had  finished  his  break- 
fast. She  fidgeted,  arranged,  and  worried  with  her  pa- 
pers, so  that  any  one  whose  skull  was  not  six  inches 
thick  might  have  seen  that  she  wanted  to  be  alone  with 
her  husband.  It  was  also  quite  clear  to  those  who 
thought  about  things,  and  watched  this  little  lady,  that 
there  may  be  meaning  in  certain  proverbial  expressions 
touching  gra}'  mares. 

Presently  Harry  Goslett  finished  his  coffee,  and,  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  her  little  ladyship's  signals  of  dis- 
tress, began  to  open  up  conversation  on  general  subjects 
with  the  noble  lord. 

She  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Here  were  the  precious 
moments  wasted  and  thrown  away,  every  one  of  which 
should  be  bringing  them  nearer  to  the  recognition  of 
their  rights. 

"Young  man,"  she  cried,  jumping  up  in  her  chair, 
"  if  3'ou've  got  nothing  to  do  but  to  loll  and  lop  around, 
all  forenoon,  I  guess  we  hev,  and  this  is  the  room  in 
which  we  do  that  work." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Lady  Davenant " 

"  Young  man — Git " 

She  pointed  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  VERY   COMPLETE   CASE. 

His  lordship,  left  alone  with  his  wife,  manifested  cer- 
tain signs  of  uneasiness.  She  laid  the  portfolio  on  the 
table,  turned  over  the  papers,  sorted  some  of  them, 
picked  out  some  for  reference,  fetched  the  ink,  and 
placed  the  penholder  in  position. 

"  Now,  my  dear, "  she  said,  ''  no  time  to  lose.  Let  us 
set  to  work  in  earnest." 

His  lordship  sighed.  He  was  sitting  with  his  fat 
hands  upon  his  knees,  contented  with  the  repose  of  the 
moment. 

"Clara  Martha,"  he  grumbled,  "cannot  I  have  one 
hour  of  rest?" 


i^ 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  41 

«•"  Not  one,  till  jou  get  your  rights."  She  hovered 
over  him  like  a  little  falcon,  tierce  and  persistent. 
"  Not  one.  What?  You  a  British  peer?  You,  who 
ought  to  he  sitting  with  a  coronet  on  your  head — you 
to  shrink  from  the  trouble  of  writing  out  j'our  case? 
And  such  a  case !" 

He  only  moaned.  Certainly  he  was  a  very  lethargic 
person. 

"  You  are  not  the  carpenter,  your  father.  Nor  even 
the  wheelwright,  your  grandfather,  who  came  down  of 
his  own  accord.  You  would  rise,  you  would  soar — you 
have  the  spirit  of  your  ancestors." 

He  feebly  flapped  with  his  elbows,  as  if  he  really 
would  like  to  take  a  turn  in  the  air,  but  made  no  verbal 
response. 

"Cousin  Nathaniel,"  she  went  on,  "gave  us  six 
months  at  six  dollars  a  week.  That's  none  too  generous 
of  Nathaniel,  seeing  we  have  no  children,  and  he  will 
be  the  heir  to  the  title.  I  guess  Aurelia  Tucker  set  him 
against  the  thing.  Six  months,  and  three  of  them  gone 
already,  and  nothing  done !  What  would  Aurelia  say 
if  we  went  home  again,  beaten?" 

The  little  woman  gasped,  and  would  have  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  but  thej"  were  such  a  long  way  down — 
shoulders  so  sloping  could  not  be  shrugged. 

Her  remonstrances  moved  the  heavy  man,  who  drew 
his  chair  to  the  table  with  great  deliberation. 

"  We  are  here, "  she  continued — always  the  exhorter 
and  the  strengthener  of  faith — "not  to  claim  a  title, 
but  to  assume  it.  We  shall  present  our  case  to  Parlia- 
ment, or  the  Queen,  or  the  House  of  Lords,  or  the  Court 
of  Chancery,  or  whosoever  is  the  right  person,  and  Ave 
shall  say,  'I  am  Lord  Davenant. '     That  is  all." 

"Clara  Martha,"  said  her  husband,  "I  wish  that 
were  all  we  had  to  do.  And,  on  the  whole,  I  would  as 
soon  be  back  in  Canaan  City,  New  Hampshire,  and  the 
trouble  over.  The  memoranda  are  all  here,"  he  said. 
"  Can't  we  get  some  one  else  to  draw  up  the  case?" 

"  Certainly  not.  You  must  do  it.  Why,  3'ou  used 
to  think  nothing  of  writing  out  a  Fourth  of  July 
speech." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  And  you  know  that  you  have  often  said,  yourself, 


42  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

that  there  wasn't  a  book  written  that  could  teach  you 
aii3"thiiig  up  to  quadratic  equations.  And  self-raised, 
too!" 

''  It  isn't  that,  Clara  Martha.  It  isn't  that.  Listen !" 
he  sank  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "  IV s  the  doubt . 
That's  the  point.  Every  time  I  face  that  doubt  it's 
like  a  bucket  of  cold  water  down  my  back." 

She  shivered.     Yes  :  there  was  always  the  doubt. 

"  Come,  my  dear, "  she  said  presently ;  "  we  must  get 
the  case  drawn  up,  so  that  any  one  may  read  it.  That 
is  the  first  thing — never  think  of  any  doubt." 

He  took  up  one  of  the  loose  papers,  which  was  cov- 
ered with  writing. 

"Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant,"  he  read  with  a 
weary  sigh,  "died  at  Canaan  City,  New  Hampshire, 
in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  ninety-four.  By  trade  he  was  a  wheelwright. 
His  marriage  is  recorded  in  the  church-register  of  July 
1,  1773.  His  headstone  still  stands  in  the  old  church- 
yard, and  says  that  he  was  born  in  England  in  the  j^ear 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  thirty-two — it  does 
not  say  where  he  was  born — and  that  he  was  sixty-two 
years  of  age  at  the  day  of  his  death.  Also,  that  long 
time  he  bore " 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  yon  needn't  put  that  in.  Go  on  with 
your  case.  The  next  point  is  your  own  father.  Cour- 
age, my  dear ;  it  is  a  very  strong  case. " 

"  The  case  is  very  strong."  His  lordship  plucked  up 
courage,  and  took  up  another  paper.  "  This  is  my  fa- 
ther's record.  All  is  clear :  Born  in  Canaan  City  on 
October  10,  177 J:,  the  year  of  Independence,  the  eldest 
son  of  the  aforesaid  Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant, 
wheelwright,  and  Dinah,  his  wife — here  is  a  copy  of 
the  register.  Married  on  May  13,  1810,  which  was  late 
in  life,  because  he  didn't  somehow  get  on  so  fast  as 
some,  toSusanna  Pegley,  of  the  same  parish.  Described 
as  carpenter — but  a  poor  workman,  Clara  Martha,  and 
fond  of  chopping  yarns,  in  which  he  was  equalled  by 
none.  He  died  in  the  j^ear  1830,  his  tombstone  still 
standing,  like  his  father's  before  him.  It  says  that  his 
end  was  peace.  Wal — he  always  wanted  it.  Give  him 
peace,  with  a  chair  in  the  veranda,  and  a  penknife  and 
a  little  bit  of  pine,  and  he  asked  for  no  more.     Only 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIONS  OF  MEN.  43 

that,  and  his  wife  wouldn't  let  him  have  it.  His  end 
was  peace." 

"You  all  want  peace,"  said  his  wife.  "The  Dave- 
nants  alwajs  did  think  that  they  only  had  to  sit  still 
and  the  plums  would  drop  in  their  mouths.  As  for 
you,  I  believe  j'ou'd  be  content  to  sit  and  sit  in  Canaan 
City  till  Queen  A^ictoria  found  you  out  and  sent  you  the 
coronet  herself.  But  you've  got  a  wife  as  well  as  vour 
father." 

"I  hev,"  he  said,  with  another  sigh.  "Perhaps  we 
were  wrong  to  come  over — I  think  I  was  happier  in  the 
schoolroom,  when  the  boj'S  were  gone  hum.  It  was 
very  quiet  there,  for  a  sleep  in  the  afternoon  by  the 
stove.  And  in  summer  the  trees  looked  harnsome  in 
the  sunlight." 

She  shook  her  head  impatiently. 

"Come,"  she  cried.  "Where  are  the  'Recollections' 
of  your  grandfather?" 

He  found  another  paper,  and  read  it  slowly. 

"  My  grandfather  died  before  I  was  born.  My  father, 
however,  said  that  he  used  to  throw  out  hints  about  his 
illustrious  family,  and  that  if  he  chose  to  go  back  to 
England  some  people  would  be  very  much  surprised. 
But  he  never  explained  himself.  Also  he  Avould  some- 
times speak  of  a  great  English  estate,  and  once  he  said 
that  the  freedom  of  a  wheelwright  was  better  than  the 
gilded  chains  of  a  British  aristocrat — that  was  at  a 
Fourth  of  July  meetin'." 

"Men  talk  wild  at  meetin's,"  said  his  wife.  "Still, 
there  may  have  been  a  meanin'  behind  it.  Go  on,  Tim- 
othy— I  mean  my  lord." 

"  As  for  my  father,  it  pleased  him,  when  he  could  put 
up  his  feet  and  crack  with  his  friends,  to  brag  of  his 
great  connections  in  England.  But  he  never  knew 
rightly  who  they  were,  and  he  was  too  peaceful  and 
restful  a  creature  to  take  steps  to  find  out." 

"Waitin'  for  King  George,"  observed  his  wife. 
"Just  what  you  would  be  doin',  but  for  me." 

"That's  all  the  recollection.  Here  comes  my  own 
declaration : 

"'I,  Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant,  make  affidavit  on 
oath,  if  necessary — but  I  am  not  quite  clear  as  to  the 
righteousness  of  swearing — that  I  am  the  son  of  the 


44  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

late  Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant,  sometime  carpenter 
of  the  Cit}"  of  Canaan,  New  Hampshire,  U.  S.  A.,  and 
Susanna  his  wife,  both  noAv  deceased ;  that  I  was  born 
in  the  year  of  grace  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
fifteen,  and  that  I  have  been  for  forty  years  a  teacher 
in  my  native  town.'  That  is  all  clean  and  above-board, 
Clara  Martha ;  no  w^eak  point  so  far,  father  to  son,  mar- 
riage certificates  regularly  found,  and  baptism  regis- 
ters. No  one  can  ask  more.  'Further,  I,  the  above- 
named  Timothy,  do  claim  to  be  the  lawful  and  legiti- 
mate heir  to  the  ancient  barony  of  Davenant,  supposed 
to  be  extinct  in  the  \^ear  1783  by  the  death  of  the  last 
lord,  without  male  issue.'  Legally  worded,  I  think," 
he  added  with  a  little  proud  smile. 

"  Yes :  it  reads  right.     Now  for  the  connection." 

"Oh!  the  connection."  His  lordship's  face  clouded 
over.  His  consort,  however,  awaited  the  explanation, 
for  the  thousandth  time,  in  confidence.  Where  the 
masculine  mind  found  doubt  and  uncertainty,  the  quick 
woman's  intellect,  ready  to  believe  and  tenacious  of 
faith,  had  jumped  to  certainty. 

"  The  connection  is  this."  He  took  up  another  paper, 
and  read : 

" '  The  last  Lord  Davenant  had  one  son  onh%  a  boy 
named  Timothy  Clitheroe.  All  the  eldest  sons  of  the 
house  were  named  Tiniothy  Clitheroe,  just  as  all  the 
Ashleys  are  named  Anthony."  When  the  boy  arrived 
at  years  of  maturity  he  was  sent  on  the  Grand  Tour, 
which  he  made  with  a  tutor.  On  returning  to  Eng- 
land, it  is  ])elieved  that  he  had  some  difference  with 
his  father,  the  nature  of  which  has  never  been  ascer- 
tained. He  then  embarked  upon  a  shij)  sailing  for  the 
American  Colonies.  Nothing  more  was  ever  heard 
about  him ;  no  news  came  to  his  father  or  his  friends, 
and  he  was  supposed  to  be  dead.'  " 

''  Even  the  ship  was  never  heard  of, "  added  her  lady- 
ship, as  if  this  was  a  fact  which  would  greatly  help  in 
lengthening  the  life  of  the  3'oung  man. 

"  That,  too,  was  never  heard  of  again.  If  she  had 
not  been  thrown  away,  we  might  have  learned  what 
became  of  the  Honorable  Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant." 
There  was  some  confusion  of  ideas  here,  which  the  ex- 
schoolmaster  was  not  slow  to  perceive. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  43 

"I  mean,"  lie  tried  to  explain,  "that  if  she  got  safe 
to  Boston,  the  young  man  would  have  landed  there, 
and  all  would  be  comparatively  clear.  Whereas,  if  she 
was  cast  away,  we  must  now  suppose  that  he  was  saved 
and  got  ashore  somehow." 

"  Like  Saint  Paul, "  she  cried  triumphantly,  "  on  a 
piece  of  wreck — what  could  be  more  simple?" 

"  Because,"  her  husband  continued,  "  there  is  one  fact 
which  proves  that  he  did  get  ashore,  that  he  concluded 
to  stay  there,  that  he  descended  so  far  into  the  social 
scale  as  to  become  a  wheelwright ;  and  that  he  lived 
and  died  in  the  town  of  Canaan,  New  Hampshire." 

"Go  on,  my  dear.  Make  it  clear.  Put  it  strong. 
This  is  the  most  interesting  point  of  all." 

"  And  this  young  man,  who  was  supposed  to  be  cast 
away  in  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty- 
four,  aged  twenty-two,  was  exactly  the  same  age  as  my 
grandfather,  Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant,  who  bore 
the  same  name,  which  is  proved  by  the  headstone  and 
the  church-books." 

"Could  there,"  asked  his  wife,  springing  to  her  feet, 
"could  there  have  been  two  Englishmen V" 

"  Of  the  same  illustrious  and  historic  surname,  both 
in  America?"  replied  her  husband,  roused  into  a  flabby 
enthusiasm. 

"  Of  the  same  beautiful  Christian  name? — tAvo  Timo- 
thys?" 

"  Born  both  in  the  same  j^ear?" 

The  little  woman  with  the  bright  eyefi  and  the  slop- 
ing shoulders  threw  her  arms  about  her  husband's  neck. 

"  You  shall  have  your  rights,  my  dear,"  she  said ;  "  I 
will  live  to  see  you  sitting  in  the  House  of  Lords  with 
the  hereditary  statesmen  of  England.  If  there  is  jus- 
tice in  the  land  of  England,  you  shall  have  your  riglits. 
There  is  justice,  I  am  sure,  and  equal  law  for  poor  and 
rich,  and  encouragements  for  the  virtuous.  Yes,  my 
dear,  the  virtuous.  Whatever  your  faults  may  be,  jour 
virtues  are  many,  and  it  can't  but  do  the  House  of 
Lords  good  to  see  a  little  virtue  among  them.  Not  that 
I  hold  with  Aurelia  Tucker  that  the  English  House  of 
Lords  arewallowers  in  sin;  whereas,  Irene  Pascoe  once 
met  a  knight  on  a  missiouarj^  platform  and  found  he'd 
got  religion.     But  virtue  you  can  never  have  too  much 


46  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

of.  Courage,  my  lord ;  forget  the  carpenter,  and  think 
only  of  the  nobleman,  your  grandfather,  who  conde- 
scended to  become  a  wheelwright." 

He  obediently  took  up  the  pen  and  began.  When  he 
seemed  fairly  absorbed  in  the  task  of  copying  out  and 
stating  the  case,  she  left  him.  As  soon  as  the  door  was 
closed,  he  heaved  a  gentle  sigh,  pushed  back  his  chair, 
put  his  feet  upon  another  chair,  covered  his  head  with 
his  red  silk  pocket-handkerchief — for  there  were  flies 
in  the  room — and  dropped  into  a  gentle  slumber.  The 
carpenter  was,  for  the  moment,  above  the  condescend- 
ing wheelwright. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ONLY   A   DRESSMAKER. 

Harry  Goslett  returned  to  the  boarding-house  that 
evening,  in  a  mood  of  profound  dejection;  he  had  spent 
a  few  hours  with  certain  cousins,  whose  acquaintance 
he  was  endeavoring  to  make.  "  Hitherto, "  he  said, 
writing  to  Lord  Jocelj'n,  "  the  soil  seems  hardly  worth 
cultivating."  In  this  he  spoke  hastily,  because  every 
man's  mind  is  worth  cultivating  as  soon  as  you  find 
out  the  things  best  fitted  to  grow  in  it.  But  some 
minds  will  only  grow  turnips,  while  others  will  produce 
the  finest  strawberries. 

The  cousins,  for  their  part,  did  not  as  yet  take  to  the 
new  arrival,  whom  they  found  difficult  to  understand. 
His  speech  was  strange,  his  manner  stranger :  these  pe- 
culiarities, they  thought  in  their  ignorance,  were  due 
to  residence  in  the  United  States,  Avhere  Harry  had 
found  it  expedient  to  place  most  of  his  previous  j'-ears. 
Conversation  was  difficult  between  two  rather  jealou;. 
workmen  and  a  brother  artisan,  who  greatly  resembled 
the  typical  swell — an  object  of  profound  dislike  and  sus- 
picion to  the  working-classes. 

He  had  now  spent  some  three  weeks  among  his  kins- 
folk. He  brought  with  him  some  curiosity,  but  little 
enthusiasm.  At  first  he  was  interested  and  amused; 
rapidly  he  became  bored  and  disgusted ;  for  as  yet  he 
saw  only  the  outside  of  things.     There  was  an  uncle. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  47 

Mr.  Benjamin  Bunker,  the  study  of  whom,  regarded  as 
anybody  else's  uncle,  would  have  been  pleasant.  Con- 
sidered as  his  own  connection  by  marriage — Benjamin 
and  the  late  Sergeant  Goslett  having  married  sisters — 
he  was  too  much  inclined  to  be  ashamed  of  him.  The 
tAvo  cousins  seemed  to  him — as  yet  he  knew  thein  very 
little — a  pair  of  sulky,  ill-bred  young  men,  who  had 
taken  two  opposite  lines,  neither  of  which  was  good  for 
social  intercourse.  The  people  of  the  boarding-house 
continued  to  amuse  him,  partl}^  because  they  were  in  a 
way  afraid  of  him.  As  for  the  place — he  looked  about 
him,  standing  at  the  north  entrance  of  Stepney  Green — 
on  the  left  hand,  the  Whitechapel  Road ;  behind  him. 
Stepney,  Limehouse,  St.  George's  in  the  East,  Poplar 
and  Shadwell ;  on  the  right,  the  Mile  End  Road,  lead- 
ing to  Bow  and  Stratford ;  before  him.  Ford,  Hackney, 
Bethnal  Green.  Mile  upon  mile  of  streets  with  houses 
— small,  mean,  and  monotonous  houses ;  the  people  liv- 
ing the  same  mean  and  monotonous  lives,  all  after  the 
same  model.  In  his  ignorance  he  pitied  and  despised 
those  people,  not  knowing  how  rich  and  full  any  life 
may  be  made,  whatever  the  surroundings,  and  even 
without  the  gracious  influences  of  art.  Under  the  in- 
liuence  of  this  pity  and  contempt,  when  he  returned  in 
the  evening  at  half -past  nine,  he  felt  himself  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  run  very  low  down  indeed. 

The  aspect  of  the  room  was  not  calculated  to  cheer 
him  up.  It  was  lit  with  a  mean  two-jet  gas-burner; 
the  dingy  curtain  wanted  looping  up,  the  furniture 
looked  more  common  and  mean  than  usual.  Yet,  as  lie 
stood  in  the  doorway,  he  became  conscious  of  a  change. 

The  boarders  were  all  sitting  there,  just  as  usual,  and 
the  supper  cloth  was  removed ;  Mr.  Maliphant  had  his 
long  pi])e  fixed  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  but  he  held  it 
there  with  an  appearance  of  constraint,  and  he  had  let 
it  go  out.  Mr.  Josephus  Coppin  sat  in  the  corner  in 
which  he  always  put  himself,  so  as  to  be  out  of  every- 
body's way;  also  with  a  pipe  in  his  hand  unlighted. 
Daniel  Fagg  had  his  Hebrew  Bible  spread  out  before 
him,  and  his  dictionary,  and  his  copy  of  the  Authorized 
Version — which  he  used,  as  he  would  carefully  explain, 
not  for  what  schoolboys  call  a  crib,  but  for  purpose  of 
comparison.     This  was  very  grand !     A  man  who  can 


48  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

read  Hebrew  at  all  inspires  one  with  confidence;  but 
the  fact  is  the  more  important  when  it  is  connected  with 
a  discovery;  and  to  compare  versions — one's  own  with 
the  collected  wisdom  of  a  royal  commission — is  a  very 
grand  thing  indeed.  But  to-night  he  sat  with  his  head 
in  his  hands,  and  his  sandy  hair  pushed  back,  looking 
straight  before  him;  and  Mrs.  Bormalack  was  graced 
in  her  best  black  silk  dress,  and  "  the  decanters"  were 
proudly  placed  upon  the  table  with  rum,  gin,  and  brandy 
in  them,  and  beside  them  stood  the  tumblers,  hot  water, 
cold  water,  lemons,  and  spoons,  in  the  most  genteel  way. 
Tiie  representative  of  the  Upper  House,  who  did  not 
take  spirits  and  water,  sat  calml}-  dignified  in  his  arm- 
chair by  the  fireplace,  and  in  front  of  him,  on  the  other 
side,  sat  his  wife,  with  black  thread  mittens  drawn 
tiglitl}^  over  her  little  hands  and  thin  arms,  bolt  upright, 
and  conscious  of  her  rank.  All  appeared  to  be  silent, 
but  that  was  their  custom,  and  all,  which  was  not  their 
custom,  wore  an  unaccustomed  air  of  companj'  manners 
which  was  very  beautiful  to  see. 

Harry,  looking  about  him,  perplexed  at  these  phe- 
nomena, presentl}''  observed  that  the  eyes  of  all,  except 
those  of  Daniel  Fagg,  were  fixed  in  one  direction ;  and 
that  the  reason  wliy  Mr.  Maliphant  held  an  unlighted 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  Josephus  one  in  his  hand,  and  that 
DcUiiel  was  not  reading,  and  that  his  lordship  looked  so 
full  of  dignity,  and  that  ardent  spirits  were  abroad, 
was  nothing  less  than  the  presence  of  a  young  lady. 

In  such  a  house,  and,  in  fact,  all  round  Stepney 
Green,  the  word  "  lady"  is  generally  used  in  a  broad  and 
catholic .  spirit ;  but  in  this  case  Harry  unconsciously 
used  it  in  the  narrow,  prejudiced,  one-sided  sense  pecu- 
liar to  Western  longitudes.  And  it  was  so  surprising 
to  think  of  a  young  lad}^  in  connection  with  Borma- 
lack's,  that  he  gasped  and  caught  his  breath.  And 
then  ]Mrs.  Bormalack  presented  him  to  the  new  arrival 
in  her  best  manner.  "  Our  youngest !"  she  said,  as  if 
he  had  been  a  son  of  the  house— "  our  youngest  and  last 
— the  sprightly  Mr.  Goslett.  This  is  Miss  Kennedy, 
and  I  hope— I'm  sure — that  3'ou  two  will  get  to  be 
friendh'  ,with  one  another,  not  to  speak  of  keeping  com- 
pany, which  is  early  daj's  yet  for  prophecies." 

Harr}^  bowed  in  his  most  superior  style.     What  on 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  49 

earth,  he  thought  again,  did  a  young  lady  want  at  Step- 
ney Green? 

She  had  the  carriage  and  the  manner  of  a  lady ;  she 
was  quite  simply  dressed  in  a  black  cashmere;  she 
wore  a  red  ribbon  around  her  white  throat,  and  had 
white  cuffs.  A  lady — unmistakably  a  lady ;  also  young 
and  beautiful,  with  great  brown  eyes,  which  met  his 
own  frankly,  and  with  a  certain  look  of.  surprise  which 
seemed  an  answer  to  his  own. 

"  Our  handsome  j'oung  cabinet-maker.  Miss  Ken- 
nedy," went  on  the  landlady — Harry  wondered  whether 
it  was  worse  to  be  described  as  sprightly  than  as  hand- 
some, and  which  adjective  was  likely  to  produce  the 
more  unfavorable  impression  on  a  young  lady — "is 
wishful  to  establish  himself  in  a  genteel  way  of  busi- 
ness, like  yourself." 

"  AVhen  I  was  in  the  dressmaking  line, "  observed  her 
ladyship,  "  I  stayed  at  home  with  mother  and  Aunt 
Keziah.  It  was  not  thought  right  in  Canaan  City  for 
young  women  to  go  about  setting  up  shops  by  them- 
selves. Not  that  I  say  you  are  wrong,  Miss  Kennedy, 
but  London  ways  are  not  New  Hampshire  waj's." 

Miss  Kennedy  murmured  something  softly,  and  looked 
again  at  the  handsome  cabinet-maker,  wdio  was  still 
blushing  with  indignation  and  shame  at  Mrs.  Borma- 
lack's  adjectives,  and  ready  to  blush  again  on  recovery 
to  think  that  he  was  so  absurd  as  to  feel  any  shame 
about  so  trifling  a  matter.  Still,  every  young  man  likes 
to  appear  in  a  good  light  in  the  presence  of  beauty. 

The  young  lady,  then,  was  only  a  dressmaker.  For 
the  moment  she  dropped  a  little  in  his  esteem,  which 
comes  of  our  artificial  and  conventional  education ;  be- 
cause—  Why  not  a  dressmaker?  Then  she  rose  again, 
because — What  a  dressmaker !  C<iuld  there  be  man}- 
such  in  Stepney?  If  so,  how  was  it  that  poets,  novel-  ' 
ists,  painters,  and  idle  j'oung  men  did  not  flock  to  so 
richly  endowed  a  district?  In  this  unexpected  manner 
does  nature  offer  compensations.  Harry  also  observed 
with  satisfaction  the  novel  presence  of  a  newly  arrived 
piano,  which  could  belong  to  no  other  than  the  new- 
comer; and  finding  that  the  conversation  showed  no 
signs  of  brightening,  he  ventured  to  ask  Miss  Kennedy 
if  she  would  play  to  them. 
4 


50  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Now,  when  she  began  to  ])lay,  a  certain  magic  of  the 
music  fell  upon  them  all,  affecting  every  one  differently. 
Such  is  the  power  of  music,  and  thus  diverse  is  it  in  its 
operation.  As  for  his  lordship,  he  sat  nodding  his  head 
and  twinkling  his  eyes  and  smiling  sweetly,  bec-ause  he 
was  in  imagination  sitting  among  his  peers  in  the 
Upper  House  with  a  crown  of  gold  and  a  robe  of  fur, 
and  all  his  friends  of  Canaan  City,  brought  across  the 
Atlantic  at  his  own  expense  for  this  ver}^  purpose,  were 
watching  him  with  envy  and  admiration  from  the  gal- 
lery. Among  them  was  Aurelia  Tucker,  the  scoffer 
and  thrower  of  cold  water.  And  her  ladyship  sat  beat- 
ing time  with  head  and  hand,  thinking  how  the  family 
estates  would  probably  be  restored,  with  the  title,  by 
the  Queen.  She  had  great  ideas  on  the  royal  preroga- 
tive, and  had  indeed  been  accustomed  to  think  in  the 
old  days  that  Englishmen  go  about  in  continual  terror 
lest  her  Majest}',  in  the  exercise  of  this  prerogative, 
should  order  their  heads  to  be  removed.  This  gracious 
vision,  due  entirely  to  the  music,  showed  her  in  a  stately 
garden  entertaining  Aurelia  Tucker  and  other  friends, 
whom  she,  like  her  husband,  had  imported  from  Ca- 
naan City  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  the  new  great- 
ness. And  Aurelia  was  green  with  envy,  though  she 
wore  her  best  black  silk  dress. 

The  other  boarders  were  differently  affected.  The 
melancholy  Josephus  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and 
saw  himself  in  imagination  the  head-brewer,  as  he  might 
have  been,  but  for  the  misfortune  of  his  early  3^outh. 
Head-brewer  to  the  firm  of  Messenger,  Marsden  &  Com- 
pany !     What  a  position ! 

Daniel  Fagg,  for  his  part,  was  dreaming  of  the  day 
when  his  discovery  was  to  be  received  by  all  and  ade- 
quately rewarded.  He  anticipated  the  congratulations 
of  his  friends  in  Australia,  and  stood  on  deck  in  port 
surrounded  by  the  crowd,  who  shook  his  hand  and 
cheered  him,  in  good  Australian  fashion,  as  Daniel  the 
Great,  Daniel  the  Scourge  of  Scholars,  Daniel  the 
Prophet — a  second  Daniel.  The  professor  took  advan- 
tage of  this  general  rapture  or  abstraction  from  earthly 
things  to  lay  the  plans  for  a  grand  coup  in  legerde- 
main— a  new  experiment,  which  should  astonish  every- 
body.    This  he  afterward  carried  through  with  success. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  51 

Mrs.  Bormalack,  for  her  part,  filled  and  slowly  drank 
a  large  tumbler  of  hot  brandv-and-water.  When  she 
had  finished  it  she  wiped  away  a  tear.  Probably,  stim- 
ulated by  the  brandy,  which  is  a  sentimental  spirit,  she 
was  thinking  of  her  late  husband,  collector  for  the  brew- 
er}', who  was  himself  romantically  fond  of  brandy-and- 
water,  and  came  to  an  early  end  in  consequence  of  over- 
rating his  powers  of  consumption. 

Mr.  Maliphant  winked  his  eyes,  rolled  his  head, 
rubbed  his  hands,  and  laughed  joyously,  but  in  silence. 
Why,  one  knows  not.  When  the  music  finished,  he 
whispered  to  Daniel  Fagg.  "No,"  he  said,  "this  is  the 
third  time  in  the  year  that  you  have  asked  leave  to 
bury  3'our  mother.  Make  it  your  grandmother,  young 
man."  Then  he  laughed  again,  and  said  that  he  had 
been  with  Walker  in  Nicaragua.  Harry  heard  this 
communication,  and  the  attempt  to  fill  up  the  story 
from  these  two  fragments  afterward  gave  him  night- 
mare. 

Miss  Kennedy  played  a  gavotte,  and  then  another, 
and  then  a  sonata.  Perhaps  it  is  the  character  of  this 
kind  of  music  to  call  up  pleasant  and  joyous  thoughts; 
certainly  there  is  much  music,  loved  greath'  b}'  some 
people,  which  makes  us  sad,  notably  the  strains  sung  at 
places  of  popular  resort.  They  probably  become  favor- 
ites because  they  sadden  so  much.  Who  would  not 
shed  tears  oa  hearing  "  Tommy  Dodd"  ? 

She  played  without  music,  gracefully,  easily,  and 
with  expression.  While  she  plaj'cd  Harrj*  sat  beside 
the  piano,  still  wondering  on  the  same  theme.  She,  a 
Stepney  dressmaker  I  Who,  in  this  region,  could  haA'e 
taught  her  that  touch?  She '' wistful  to  establish  her- 
self in  a  genteel  way  of  business"?  Was  art,  then,  per- 
meating downward  so  rapidh'?  Were  the  people  just 
above  the  masses,  the  seoond  or  third  stratum  of  the 
social  pyramid,  taught  music,  and  in  such  a  style? 
Then  he  left  off  wondering,  and  fell  to  the  blissful  con- 
templation of  a  beautiful  woman  placing  beautiful  mu- 
sic. This  is  an  occupation  always  delightful  to  young 
Englishmen,  and  it  does  equal  credit  to  their  heads  and 
to  their  hearts  that  they  never  tire  of  so  harmless  an 
amusement.  When  she  finished  i)laying,  everybody 
descended  to  earth,  so  to  speak. 


53  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDlTIOXS  OF  MEN. 

The  noble  pair  remembered  that  their  work  was  still 
before  them — all  to  do:  one  of  them  thought,  with  a 
pang,  about  the  drawing  of  the  case,  and  wished  he 
had  not  gone  to  sleep  in  the  morning. 

The  clerk  in  the  brewery  awoke  to  the  recollection  of 
his  thirty  shillings  a  week,  and  reflected  that  the  weather 
was  such  as  to  necessitate  a  pair  of  boots  which  had 
soles. 

The  learned  Daniel  Fagg  bethought  him  once  more 
of  his  poverty  and  the  increasing  difficulty  of  getting 
subscribers,  and  the  undisguised  contempt  with  which 
the  head  of  the  Egyptian  department  had  that  morning 
received  him. 

Mr.  Maliphant  left  off  laughing,  and  shook  his  puck- 
ered old  face  with  a  little  astonishment  that  he  had  been 
so  moved. 

Said  the  professor,  breaking  the  silence : 

"  I  like  the  music  to  go  on,  so  long  as  no  patter  is 
wanted.  They  listen  to  music  if  it's  livel}',  and  it  pre- 
vents 'em  from  looking  round  and  getting  suspicious. 
You  haven't  got  an  egg  upon  you,  Mrs.  Bormalack, 
have  j^ou?  Dear  me,  one  in  your  lap!  Actually  in  a 
lady's  lap!  A  common  egg,  one  of  our  'selected,'  at 
tenpence  the  dozen.  Ah!  In  your  lap,  too!  How 
very  injudicious!  You  might  have  dropped  it,  and 
broken  it.  Perhaps,  miss,  3'ou  wouldn't  mind  obliging 
once  more  with  'Tommy,  make  room  for  your  uncle' 
or  'Over  the  garden  wall,'  if  you  please." 

Miss  Kennedy  did  not  know  either  of  these  airs,  but 
she  laughed  and  said  she  would  play  something  lively, 
while  the  professor  v/ent  on  with  his  trick.  First,  he 
drew  all  eyes  to  meet  his  own  like  a  fascinating  con- 
strictor, and  then  he  began  to  "  palm"  the  egg  in  the 
most  surprising  manner.  After  many  adventures  it 
was  ultimately  found  in  Daniel  Fagg's  pocket.  Then 
the  professor  smiled,  bowed,  and  spread  out  his  hands 
as  if  to  show  the  purit}^  and  honesty  of  his  con- 
juring. 

"  Yon  plaj'  very  well,"  said  Harry  to  Miss  Kennedy, 
when  the  conjuring  was  over  and  the  professor  returned 
to  his  chair  and  his  nightly  occupation  with  a  pencil, 
a  piece  of  paper,  and  a  book. 

"Can  you  play?" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  53 

"  I  fiddle  a  little.  If  you  will  allow  me,  we  will  try 
some  evening  a  dnet  together.'' 

"  I  did  not  laiow "  she  began,  but  checked  herself. 

"I  did  not  expect  to  find  a  violinist  here." 

"  A  good  many  people  of  my  class  play, "  said  Harry, 
mendaciousl}',  because  the  English  workman  is  'the 
least  musical  of  men. 

_  "  Few  of  mine,"  she  returned,  rising,  and  closing  the 
piano,  "  have  the  chance  of  learning.  But  1  have  had 
opportunities." 

She  looked  at  her  watch,  and  remarked  that  it  was 
nearl}'  ten  o'clock,  and  that  she  was  going  to  bed. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  Mr.  Bunker  about  what  you  want, 
Miss  Kennedy,"  said  the  landlady,  "  He  will  be  here 
to-morrow  morning  about  ten  on  his  rounds." 
"  Who  is  Mr.  Bunker?"  asked  Angela. 
They  all  seemed  surprised.  Had  she  never,  in  what- 
ever part  of  the  world  she  had  lived,  heard  of  Mr. 
Bunker — Bunker  the  Great? 

"  He  used  to  be  a  sort  of  factotum  to  old  Mr.  Messen- 
ger," said  Mrs.  Bormalack.  "  His  death  was  a  sad  blow 
to  Mr.  Bunker.  He's  a  general  agent  by  trade,  and  he 
deals  in  coal,  and  he's  a  house  agent,  and  he  knows 
everybody  round  Stepney  and  up  to  the  Mile  End  Road 
as  far  as  Bow.  He's  saved  money,  too,  Miss  Ken- 
nedy, and  is  greatly  respected." 

"  He  ought  to  be, "  said  Harry ;  "  not  only  because  he 
was  so  much  with  Mr.  Messenger,  whose  name  is  re- 
vered for  the  kindred  associations  of  beer  and  proj)- 
erty,  but  also  because  he  is  my  uncle — he  ought  to  be 
respected." 

"  Your  uncle?" 

"  My  own — so  near,  and  yet  so  dear — my  uncle  Bunk- 
er. To  be  connected  with  Messenger,  Marsden  &  Com- 
panj-,  even  indirectly  through  such  an  uncle,  is  in  itself 
a  distinction.  You  will  learn  to  know  him,  and  you 
will  learn  to  esteem  him.  Miss  Kennedy.  You  will  es- 
teem him  all  the  more  if  3'ou  are  interested  in  beer." 
Miss  Kenned}'  blushed. 

"  Bunker  is  great  in  the  company.  I  believe  he  used 
to  consider  himself  a  kind  of  a  pai'tner  while  the  old 
man  lived.  He  knows  all  about  the  big  brewery.  As 
for  that,  everj'body  does  round  Stepney  Green." 


54  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  The  company, "  said  Josephiis  gloomily,  "  is  noth- 
ing but  a  chit  of  a  girl."  He  sighed,  thinking  how 
much  went  to  her  and  how  little  came  to  himself. 

"We  are  steeped  in  beer,"  Harry  went  on.  "Our 
conversation  turns  for  ever  on  beer;  we  live  for  beer; 
thS  houses  round  us  are  filled  with  the  company's  ser- 
vants ;  we  live  by  beer.  For  example,  Mrs.  Bormalack's 
late  husband " 

"  He  was  a  collector  for  the  company, "  said  the  land- 
lady, with  natural  pride. 

"  You  see.  Miss  Kenned}^,  what  a  responsible  and 
exalted  position  was  held  by  Mr.  Bormalack."  (The 
widow  thought  that  sometimes  it  was  hard  to  know 
whether  this  sprightly  young  man  was  laughing  at  peo- 
ple or  not,  but  it  certainly  was  a  very  high  position, 
and  most  respectable.  "  He  went  round  the  houses," 
Harry  went  on.  "Houses,  here,  mean  public-houses*, 
the  company  owns  half  the  public-houses  in  the  East 
End.  Then  here  is  my  cousin,  the  genial  Josephus. 
Hold  up  your  head,  Josephus.  He,  for  his  part,  is  a 
clerk  in  the  house." 

Josephus  groaned.     "A  junior  clerk,"  he  murmured. 

"  The  professor  is  not  allowed  in  the  brewerj^  He 
might  conjure  among  the  vats,  and  vats  have  never 
been  able  to  take  a  practical  joke ;  but  he  amuses  the 
brewery  people.  As  for  Mr.  Maliphant,  he  carves  fig- 
ure-heads for  the  ships  which  carry  away  the  brewery 
beer;  and  perhaps  when  the  brewery  wants  cabinets 
made  they  will  come  to  me." 

"  It  is  the  biggest  brewery  in  all  England,"  said  the 
landlady.  "  I  can  never  remember — because  my  mem- 
ory is  like  a  sieve — how  much  beer  they  brew  every 
year ;  but  somebody  once  made  a  calculation  about  it, 
compared  w^ith  Niagara  Falls,  which  even  Mr.  Bunker 
said  was  surprising." 

"Think,  Miss  Kennedy,"  said  Harry,  "of  an  Entire 
Niagara  of  Messenger's  Entire." 

"But  how  can  this  Mr.  Bunker  be  of  use  to  me?" 
asked  the  young  lady. 

"  Why !"  said  Mrs.  Bormalack.  "  There  is  not  a  shop 
or  a  street  nor  any  kind  of  place  within  miles  Mr. 
Bunker  doesn't  know,  who  they  are  that  live  there,  how 
they  make  their  living,  what  the  rent  is,  and  every- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  55 

thing.  That's  what  made  him  so  useful  to  old  Mr. 
Messenger." 

Miss  Kennedy  for  some  reason  changed  color.  Then  she 
said  that  she  thought  she  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Bunker. 
When  she  was  gone  Harry  sat  down  beside  his  lord- 
ship and  proceeded  to  smoke  tobacco  in  silence,  refusing 
the  proffered  decanters. 
Said  the  professor  softly : 

"  She'd  be  a  fortune— a  gem  of  the  first  water— upon 
the  b(xirds.  As  pianoforte-player  between  the  feats  of 
magic,  marvel,  and  mystery,  or  a  medium  under  the 
magnetic  influence  of  the  operator,  or  a  clairvoyant,  or 
a  thought-reader— or "  Here  he  relapsed  into  si- 
lence without  a  sigh. 

"She  looks  inteUigent,"  said  Daniel  Fagg.     "When 

she  hears  about  my  discovery  she  will "     Here  he 

caught  the  eye  of  Harry  Goslett,  who  was  shaking  a  fin- 
ger (;f  warning,  which  he  rightly  interpreted  to  mean 
that  dressmakers  must  not  be  asked  to  subscribe  to 
learned  books.     This  abashed  him. 

"  Considered  as  a  figure-head,"  began  Mr.  Maliphant, 

"  I  remember " 

"  As    a    dressmaker,  now "    interrupted    Harry. 

"  Do  Stepney  dressmakers  often  play  the  piano  like — 
well,  like  Miss  Kennedy?  Do  they  wear  gold  watches? 
Do  they  talk  and  move  and  act  so  much  like  real  ladies, 
tliat  no  one  could  tell  the  difference?  Answer  me  that, 
Mrs.  Bormalack." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Goslett,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  she  seems 
a  very  proper  young  lady  to  have  in  the  house." 

"Proper,  ma'am?  If  you  were  to  search  the  whole 
of^Stepney,  I  don't  believe  you  could  find  such  another. 
What  does  your  ladyship  say?" 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Goslett,  that  in  Canaan  City  the  ladies 
v.-ho  are  dressmakers  set  the  fashions  to  the  ladies  who 
are  not;  I  was  myself  a  dressmaker.  And  Aurelia 
Tucker,  though  she  turns  up  her  nose  at  our  elevation, 
ij,  I  must  say,  a  lady  who  would  do  credit  to  any  circle, 
even  yours,  Mrs.  Bormalack.  And  such  remarks  about 
real  ladies  and  dressmakers  I  do  not  understand,  and  I 
expected  better  manners,  I  must  sav.  Look  at  his  lord- 
ship's manners,  Mr.  Goslett,  and  his  father  was  a  car- 
penter, like  you." 


56  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

UNCLE     BUNKER. 

"My  uncle!"  ^ 

It  was  the  sprightly  young  cabinet-maker  who  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  grasped  the  hand  of  the  new-comer  with 
an  effusion  not  returned. 

"Allow  me,  Miss  Kennedy,  to  present  to  jou  my 
uncle,  my  uncle  Bunker,  whose  praise  you  heard  us 
sing  with  one  consent  last  night.  We  did,  indeed,  re- 
vered one!  Whatever  you  want  bought.  Miss  Ken- 
nedy, from  a  piano  to  a  learned  pig,  this  is  the  man 
who  will  do  it  for  3'ou.  A  percentage  on  the  cost,  with 
a  trifling  charge  for  time,  is  all  he  seeks  in  return.  He 
is  generally  known  as  the  Benevolent  Bunker;  he  is 
everybody's  friend ;  especially  he  is  beloved  by  persons 
behindhand  Avith  their  rents,  he  is^ — " 

Here  Mr.  Bunker  drew  out  his  watch,  and  observed 
with  severity  that  his  time  was  valuable,  and  that  he 
came  about  business. 

Angela  observed  that  the  sallies  of  his  nephew  were 
received  with  disfavor. 

"  Can  we  not,"  pursued  Harry,  regardless  of  the  cloud 
upon  his  uncle's  brow — "  can  we  not  escape  from  af- 
fairs of  urgency  for  one  moment?  Show  us  your  lighter 
side,  my  uncle.  Let  Miss  Kennedy  admi.re  the  gifts 
and  graces  which  you  hide  as  well  as  the  sterner  quali- 
ties which  you  exhibit." 

"Business,  j'oung  lady,"  the  agent  repeated,  with  a 
snort  and  a  scowl.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  rubbed  his 
bald  head  with  a  silk  pocket-handkerchief  until  it  shone 
like  polished  marble.  He  was  short  of  stature  and  of 
round  figure.  His  face  was  red  and  puffy  as  if  he  was 
fond  of  hot  brandy-and-water,  and  he  panted,  being  a 
little  short  of  breath.  His  eyes  were  small  and  close 
together,  which  gave  him  a  cunning  look ;  his  whiskers 
were  large  and  gra}' ;  his  lips  were  thick  and  firm,  and 
his  upper  lip  was  long :  his  nose  was  broad,  but  not 
humorous;  his  head  was  set  on  firmly,  and  he  had  a 
square  chin.     Evidently  he  was  a  man  of  determina- 


\ 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  57 

tion,  and  he  was  probably  determined  to  look  after  his 
own  interests  first. 

"I  want,"  said  Angela,  "to  establish  myself  in  this 
neighborhood  as  a  dressmaker." 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Bunker.  "That's  practical. 
It  is  my  business  to  do  with  practical  people,  not  snig- 
gerers  and  idle  giggiers."     He  looked  at  his  nephew. 

"  I  shall  want  a  convenient  house,  and  a  staff  of 
workwomen,  and — and  some  one  acquainted  with  busi- 
ness details  and  management." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Bunker.  "  A  forewoman  you  will 
want,  of  course." 

"  Then,  as  I  do  not  ask  you  to  give  me  your  advice  for 
nothing,  how  are  you  generally  paid  for  such  services?" 

"I  charge,"  he  said,  "as  arranged  for  beforehand. 
Time  for  talking,  arranging,  and  house-hunting,  lialf- 
a-crown  an  hour.  That  won't  break  you.  And  you 
won't  talk  too  much,  knowing  you  have  to  pay  for  it. 
Percentage  on  the  rent,  ten  per  cent,  for  the  first  year, 
nothing  afterward ;  if  you  want  furniture,  I  will  fur- 
nish your  house  from  top  to  bottom  on  the  same  terms, 
and  find  3^ou  work -girls  at  five  shillings  a  head." 

"Yes,"  said  Angela.  "I  suppose  I  must  engage  a 
staff.  And  I  suppose" — ^here  she  looked  at  Harry,  as 
if  for  advice — "  I  suppose  that  you  are  the  best  person 
to  go  to  for  assistance." 

"  There  is  no  one  else, "  said  Mr.  Bunker.  "  That  is 
why  my  terms  are  so  low." 

His  nephew  whistled  softly. 

Mr.  Bunker,  after  an  angry  growl  at  people  who  keep 
their  hands  in  their  pockets,  proceeded  to  develop  his 
views.  Miss  Kenned}-  listened  languidlv,  aj^pearing  to 
care  very  little  about  details,  and  agreeing  to  most  ex- 
pensive things  in  a  perfectl}'  reckless  manner.  She  was 
afraid,  for  her  part,  that  her  own  ignorance  would  be 
exposed  if  she  talked.  The  agent,  however,  (juickly 
perceived  how  ignorant  she  was,  from  this  very  silence, 
iind  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  so  promising  a  sub- 
ject. She  could  not  possibly  have  much  money — who 
ever  heard  of  a  Stepney  dressmaker  with  any? — and 
she  evidently  had  no  experience.  He  would  get  as 
much  of  the  money  as  he  could,  and  she  would  be  the 
gainer  in  experience.     A  most  equitable  arrangement. 


58  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

he  thought,  being  one  of  those — too  few,  alas! — who 
keep  before  their  eyes  a  lofty  ideal,  and  love  to  act  up 
to  it. 

When  he  had  quite  finished  and  fairly  embarked  his 
victim  on  a  vast  ocean  of  expenditure,  comparatively, 
and  with  reference  to  Stepney  and  Mile  End  customs, 
he  put  up  his  pocketbook  and  remarked,  with  a  smile, 
that  he  should  want  references  of  respectabilit3^ 

"That's  usual,"  he  said:  "I  could  not  work  with- 
out." 

Angela  changed  color.  To  be  asked  for  references 
was  awkward. 

"  You  can  refer  to  me,  my  uncle, "  said  Harry. 

Mr.  Bunker  took  no  notice  of  this  proposition. 

"You  see,  miss,"  he  said,  "we  don't  know  you,  nor 
where  j^ou  come  from,  nor  what  money  you've  got,  nor 
how  you  got  it.  No  doubt  it  is  all  right,  and  I'm  sure 
you  look  honest.  Perhaps  you've  got  nothing  to  hide, 
and  very  likely  there's  good  reasons  for  wanting  to  set- 
tle here!" 

"  M}'  grandfather  was  a  Whitechapel  man  by  birth," 
she  replied.  "  He  left  me  some  money.  If  you  must 
have  references,  of  course  I  could  refer  you  to  the  law- 
yers who  managed  my  little  affairs.  But  I  would 
rather,  to  save  trouble,  pay  for  everything  on  the  spot, 
and  the  rent  in  advance." 

Mr.  Bunker  consented  to  waive  his  objection  on  pay- 
ment of  a  sum  of  ten  pounds  do  vn,  it  being  understood 
and  concluded  that  everything  bought  should  be  paid 
for  on  the  spot,  and  a  year's  rent  when  the  house  was 
fixed  upon,  paid  in  advance ;  in  consideration  for  which 
he  said  the  young  lady  might,  in  subsequent  transac- 
tions with  strangers,  refer  to  himself,  a  privilege  which 
was  nothing  less  than  the  certain  passport  to  fortune. 

"  As  for  me,"  he  added,  "  my  motto  is,  'Think  first  of 
your  client.'  Don't  spare  j'ourself  for  him;  toil  for 
him,  think  for  him,  rise  up  early  and  lie  down  late  for 
him,  and  you  reap  your  reward  from  grateful  hearts. 
Lord  !  the  fortunes  I  have  made !" 

"  Virtuous  Uncle  Bunker  I"  cried  Harry  with  enthu- 
siasm.    "Xoble,  indeed!" 

The  good  man  for  the  moment  forgot  the  existence  of 
his  frivolous  nephew,  who  had  retired  up  the  stage,  so 


\ 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  59 

to  speak.     He  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  say  something 
in  anger,  but  retrained,  and  bnorted. 

"  Now  that  we've  settled  that  matter,  Mr.  Bunker," 
the  girl  said  without  noticing  the  interruption,  "  let  us 
talk  about  other  matters. " 

"  Are  they  business  matters?" 

"  Not  exactly ;  but  still " 

"  Time  is  money ;  an  hour  is  half-a-crown."  He  drew 
out  his  watch,  and  made  a  note  of  the  time  in  his  pock- 
etbook.  "  A  quarter  to  eleven,  miss.  If  I  didn't  charge 
for  time,  what  would  become  of  my  clients?  Neg- 
lected; their  interests  ruined;  the  favorable  moment 
gone.  If  I  could  tell  you  of  a  lady  I  established  two 
years  ago  in  one  of  the  brewery-houses  and  what  she's 
made  of  it,  and  what  she  says  of  me,  you  would  be  as- 
tonished. A  grateful  heart !  and  no  better  brandy-and- 
water,  hot,  with  a  slice  of  lemon,  in  the  Whitechapel 
Road.     But  you  were  about  to  say,  miss " 

"  She  was  going  to  begin  with  a  hymn  of  praise, 
Uncle  Bunker,  paid  in  advance,  like  the  rest.  Grati- 
tude for  favors  to  come.  But  if  you  like  to  tell  about 
the  lady,  do.  Miss  Kennedy  will  only  charge  3'ou  half- 
a-crown  an  hour.     I'll  mark  time." 

"I  think,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Bunker,  "that  it  is 
time  j^ou  should  go  to  3-our  work.  Stepney  is  not  the 
place  for  sniggerin'  peacocks;  they'd  better  have  stayed 
in  the  United  States." 

"  I  am  waiting  till  you  have  found  me  a  place,  too," 
the  young  man  replied.  "  I  too  would  wish  to  expe- 
rience the  grateful  heart.  It  is  peculiar  to  White- 
chapel." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  Angela  went  on,  "that  I  hear 
you  were  connected  with  old  Mr.  Messenger  for  many 
years. " 

"  I  was,"  Mr.  Bunker  replied,  and  straightened  his 
back  with  pride.  "  I  was — everybody  knows  that  I 
was  his  confidential  factotum  and  his  familiar  friend, 
as  David  was  unto  Jonathan." 

"  Indeed  !  I  used  to — to — hear  about  him  formerly 
a  great  deal." 

"  Which  made  his  final  behavior  the  more  revolting," 
Mr.  Bunker  continued,  completing  his  sentence. 

"  Really !     How  did  he  finally  behave?" 


60  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  It  was  alwaj's — ah !  for  twenty  years,  between  us, 
Bunker,  my  friend,'  or  'Bunker,  my  trusted  friend,' 
tell  me  this,  go  there,  find  out  that.  I  bought  his 
houses;  I  let  his  houses;  I  told  him  who  were  responsi- 
ble tenants;  I  warned  him  when  shooting  of  moons 
seemed  likely;  I  found  out  their  antecedents  and  told 
him  their  stories.  He  had  hundreds  of  houses,  and  he 
know  everybody  that  lived  in  them,  and  what  their  fa- 
thers were  and  their  mothers  were,  and  even  'their 
grandmothers.  For  he  was  a  Whitechapel  man  by 
birth,  and  was  proud  of  it." 

"  But — the  shameful  behavior?" 

"  All  the  time  " — he  shook  his  head  and  looked  posi- 
tively terrible  in  his  wrath — "  all  the  time  I  was  piling 
up  his  property  for  him,  houses  here,  streets  there,  he 
would  encourage  me  in  his  way.  'Go  on.  Bunker,'  he 
would  say,  'go  on.  A  man  who  works  for  duty,  like 
yourself,  and  to  please  his  employers,  and  not  out  of 
consideration  for  the  pay,  is  one  of  a  million ;'  as  I  cer- 
tainly was.  Miss  Kennedy.  'One  of  a  millicn,'  he  said; 
'and  you  will  have  your  reward  after  I  am  gone.' 
Over  and  over  again  he  said  this,  and  of  course  I  reck- 
oned on  it,  and  only  wondered  how  much  it  would  tot 
up  to.  Something.  I  thought,  in  four  figures ;  it  couldn't 
be  less  than  four  figures."  Here  he  stopped  and  rubbed 
his  bald  head  again. 

Angela  caught  the  eyes  of  his  nephew,  who  in  his 
seat  behind  was  silent!}'  laughing.  He  had  caught  the 
situation  which  she  herself  now  readily  comprehended. 
She  pictured  to  herself  this  blatant  Professor  of  Disin- 
terestedness and  Zeal  buzzing  and  fluttering  about  her 
grandfather,  and  the  quiet  old  man  egging  him  on  to 
more  protestations. 

''  Four  figures,  for  certain  it  would  be.  Once  I  asked 
his  advice  as  to  how  I  should  invest  that  reward  when 
it  did  come.  He  laughed,  miss.  Yes,  for  once  he 
laughed,  which  I  never  saw  him  do  before  or  after.  1 
often  think  he  must  be  sorry  now  to  think  of  that  time 
he  laughed.     Yah  !  I'.m  glad  of  it." 

So  far  as  Angela  could  make  it,  his  joy  grew  out  of 
a  persuasion  that  this  particular  fit  of  laughter  was 
somehow  interfering  with  her  grandfather's  present 
comforts,  but  perhaps  she  was  wrong. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  61 

"  He  laughed, "  continued  Mr.  Bunker,  "  and  he  said 
that  house  property,  in  a  rising  neighborhood,  and  if  it 
could  be  properly  looked  after,  was  the  best  investment 
for  money.  House  property,  he  said,  as  far  as  the 
money  would  go." 

"And  when  he  died?"  asked  the  listener,  with  an- 
other glance  at  Harry,  the  unsympathetic,  whose  face 
expressed  the  keenest  enjoyment. 

•'  Nothing,  if  you  please  ;  not  one  brass  farthing. 
Hunks  !  Hunks  !"  He  grew  perfectly  purple,  and 
clutched  his  fist  as  if  he  would  fain  be  ixmching  of 
heads.  "Not  one  word  of  me  in  his  will.  All  for  the 
girl :  minions — millions — for  her ;  and  for  me  who  done 
his  work — nothing." 

"You  have  the  glow  of  virtue,"  said  his  nephew. 

"It  seems  hard,"  said  Angela  quickly,  for  the  man 
looked^  dangerous,  and  seemed  capable  of  transferring 
his  wrath  to  his  nephew ;  "  it  seems  hard  to  get  nothing 
if  anything  was  promised." 

"It  seems  a  pity,"  Harry  chimed  in,  "that  so  much 
protesting  was  in  vain.  Perhaps  Mr.  Messenger  took 
him  at  his  word.  AVhat  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  be- 
lieved !'^ 

"  A  Hunks,"  replied  Mr.  Bunker;  "  a  miserly  Hunks." 

"  Let  me  write  a  letter  for  you,"  said  Harry,  "  to  the 
heiress;  we  might  forward  it  with  a  deputation  of 
grateful  hearts  from  Stepney." 

"Mind  your  own  business,"  growled  his  uncle. 
"  Well,  miss.  3-ou  wanted  to  hear  about  Mr.  Messenger, 
and  you  have  heard.     What  next?" 

"  I  should  very  much  like,  if  it  were  possible,"  Angela 
replied,  "  to  see  this  great  brewery,  of  which  one  hears 
so  much.  Could  you,  for  instance,  take  me  over,  Mr. 
Bunker?" 

"At  a  percentage,"  whispered  his  nephew,  loud 
enough  for  both  to  hear. 

"Messenger's  brewery,"  he  replied,  "is  as  familiar 
to  me  as  my  own  fireside.  I've  grown  up  beside  it.  I 
know  all  the  people  in  it.  They  all  know  me.  Perhaps 
they  respect  me.  For  it  was  well  known  that  a  hand- 
some legacy  was  promised  and  expected.  And  nothing, 
after  all.  As  for  taking  you  over,  of  course  I  can.  We 
will  go  at  once.     It  will  take  time;  and  time  is  money." 


62  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  May  I  go  too?"  asked  Harry. 

"  No,  sir ;  you  may  not.  It  shall  not  be  said  in  the 
Mile  End  Road  that  an  industrious  man  like  myself, 
a  Avorker  for  clients,  Avas  seen  in  working-time  with 
an  idler." 

The  walk  from  Stepney  Green  to  Messenger  & 
Marsden's  Brewery  is  not  far.  You  turn  to  the  left  if 
your  house  is  on  one  side,  and  to  the  right  if  it  is  on 
the  other ;  then  you  pass  a  little  waj''  down  one  street, 
and  a  little  way,  turning  again  to  the  left,  up  another — 
a  direction  which  will  guide  you  quite  clearly.  You 
then  find  A'ourself  before  a  great  gateway,  the  portals  of 
which  are  closed;  beside  it  is  a  smaller  door,  at  wdiich, 
in  a  little  lodge,  sits  one  who  guards  the  entrance. 

Mr.  Bunker  nodded  to  the  porter  and  entered  unchal- 
lenged. He  led  the  way  across  a  court  to  a  sort  of 
outer  office. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  the  book  for  the  visitors'  names. 
We  have  them  from  all  countries;  great  lords  and 
ladies;  foreign  princes;  and  all  the  brewers  from  Ger- 
many and  America,  who  come  to  get  a  wrinkle.  Write 
your  name  in  it,  too.  Something,  let  me  tell  j'ou,  to 
have  3'our  name  in  sucli  noble  company." 

She  took  a  pen  and  wrote  hurriedly. 

Mr.  Bunker  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Ho !  ho !"  he  said,  *'  that  is  a  good  one !  See  what 
you've  written." 

In  fact,  she  had  written  her  own  name — Angela  Mars- 
den  Messenger. 

She  blushed  violently. 

"  How  stupid  of  me !  I  was  thinking  of  the  heiress 
— the}"  said  it  was  her  name." 

She  carefullv  effaced  the  name,  and  wrote  under  it, 
"A.M.Kennedy." 

"That's  better.  And  now  come  along.  A  good 
joke,  too !  Fancy  their  astonishment  if  they  had  come 
to  read  it !" 

"  Does  she  often  come — the  heiress?" 

"  Never  once  been  anigh  the  place ;  never  seen  it ; 
never  asks  after  it ;  never  makes  an  inquiry  about  it. 
Draws  the  money  and  despises  it." 

"  I  wonder  she  has  not  got  more  curiosity." 

"Ah I     It's  a  shame  for  such  a  propertj-  to  come  to  a 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  63 

girl — a  girl  of  twenty-one.  Thirteen  acres  it  covers — 
think  of  that!  Seven  hundred  people  it  emplo3's,  most 
of  them  married.  Why,  if  it  was  only  to  see  her  own 
vats,  you'd  think  she'd  got  off  of  her  luxurious  pillows 
for  once,  and  come  here." 

Tiiey  entered  a  great  hall  remarkable  at  first  for  a 
curious  smell,  not  offensive,  but  strong  and  rather 
pungent.  In  it  stood  half-a-dozen  enormous  A^ats,  closed 
b}^  wooden  slides,  like  shutters,  fitting  tightly.  A  man 
standing  by  opened  one  of  these,  and  presently  Angela 
was  able  to  make  out,  through  the  volumes  of  steam, 
something  bright  going  round,  and  a  brown  mess  go- 
ing with  it. 

"  That  is  hops.  Hops  for  the  biggest  brewery,  the 
richest,  in  all  England.  And  all  belonging  to  a  girl 
who,  likely  enough,  doesn't  drink  more  than  a  pint  and 
a  half  a  day." 

"  I  dare  say  not, "  said  Angela ;  "  it  must  be  a  dread- 
ful thing  indeed  to  have  so  much  beer,  and  to  be  able  to 
drink  so  little." 

He  led  the  way  upstairs  into  another  great  hall, 
where  there  was  the  grinding  of  machinery  and  another 
smell,  sweet  and  heavy. 

"  This  is  where  we  crush  the  malt, "  said  Mr.  Bunker — • 
— "  see !"  He  stooped,  and  picked  out  of  a  great  box  a 
handful  of  the  newly-crushed  malt.  "  I  suppose  you 
thought  it  was  roasted.  Roasting,  young  lady,"  he 
added  with    severity,  "  is  for  stout,  not  for  ale !  " 

Then  he  took  her  to  another  place  and  showed  her 
where  the  liquor  stood  to  ferment ;  how  it  was  cooled, 
how  it  was  passed  from  one  vat  to  another,  how  it  was 
stored  and  kept  in  vats,  dwelling  perpetuallj"  on  the 
magnitude  of  the  business,  and  the  irony  of  fortune  in 
conferring  this  great  gift  upon  a  girl. 

"I  know  now,"  she  interrupted,  "what  the  place 
smells  like.  It  is  fusel  oil."  They  were  standing  on  a 
floor  of  open  iron  bars,  above  a  row  cf  long  covered 
vats,  within  which  the  liquor  was  working  and  fer- 
menting. Every  now  and  then  there  would  be  a  heav- 
ing of  the  surface,  and  a  quantity  of  the  malt  would 
then  move  suddenly  over. 

"We  are  famous,"  said  Mr.  Bunker;  "I  say^rf,  hav- 
ing been  the  confidential  friend  and  adviser  of  the  late 


64  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Mr.  Messenger,  deceased;  we  are  famous  for  our  Stout; 
also  for  our  Mild ;  and  we  are  now  reviving  our  Bitter, 
which  we  had  partiallj^  neglected.  We  use  the  arte- 
sian well,  which  is  four  hundred  feet  deep,  for  our 
Stout,  but  the  company's  water  for  our  ales;  and  our 
water  rate  is  two  thousand  pounds  a  year.  The  arte- 
sian well  gives  the  ale  a  gray  color,  which  people  don't 
like.  Come  into  this  room,  now  " — it  was  another  great 
hall  covered  with  sacks.  "  Hops  again.  Miss  Kennedy; 
now,  that  little  lot  is  worth  ten  thousand  pounds — ten — 
thousand — think  of  that;  and  it  is  all  spoiled  b}"  the 
rain,  and  has  to  be  thrown  away.  We  think  nothing 
of  losing  ten  thousand  pounds  here,  nothing  at  all !" — 
he  snapped  his  fingers — "  it  is  a  mere  trifle  to  the  girl 
who  sits  at  home  and  takes  the  profits!" 

He  spoke  as  if  he  felt  a  personal  animosity  to  the  girl. 
Angela  told  him  so. 

"  No  wonder, "  he  said ;  "  she  took  all  the  legacy  that 
ought  to  have  been  mine :  no  man  can  forgive  that. 
You  are  young,  Miss  Kennedy,  and  are  only  beginning 
business ;  mark  my  words,  one  of  these  days  you  will 
feel  how  hard  it  is  to  put  a  little  b}" — work  as  hard  as 
3'ou  may — while  here  is  this  one  having  it  put  away  for 
her,  thousands  a  day,  and  doing  for  it — nothing  at  all." 

Then  they  went  into  more  great  halls,  and  up  more 
stairs,  and  on  to  the  roof,  and  saw  more  piles  of  sacks, 
more  malt,  and  more  hops.  When  they  smelt  the 
hops,  it  seemed  as  if  their  throats  were  tightened; 
when  they  smelt  the  fermentation,  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  smelling  fusel  oil;  when  they  sinelt  the  plain 
crushed  malt,  it  seemed  as  if  the}^  were  getting  swiftly 
but  sleepily  drunk.  Everywhere  and  always  the  steam 
rolled  backward  and  forward,  and  the  grinding  of  the 
machiner}- went  on,  and  the  roaring  of  the  furnaces; 
and  the  men  went  about  to  and  fro  at  their  work.  They 
did  not  seem  hard  worked,  nor  were  thej'  pressed ;  their 
movements  were  leisurely,  as  if  beer  was  not  a  thing  to 
hurry;  they  were  all  rather  pale  of  cheek,  but  fat  and 
jolly,  as  if  the  beer  was  good  and  agreed  with  them. 
Some  w^ore  brown  paper  caps,  for  it  was  a  pretty 
draughty  place ;  some  went  bareheaded,  some  wore  the 
little  round  hat  in  fashion.  And  they  went  to  another 
part,  where  men  were  rolling  barrels  about,  as  if  thej'' 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  65 

had  been  skittles,  and  here  they  saw  vats  holding  three 
thousand  barrels ;  and  one  thought  of  giant  armies — say 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  thirsty  Germans — begin- 
ning the  loot  of  London  with  one  of  these  royal  vats. 
And  they  went  through  the  stables,  where  hmidreds  of 
horses  wers  stalled  at  night,  each  as  big  as  an  elephant, 
and  much  more  useful. 

In  one  great  room,  where  there  was  the  biggest  vat 
of  all,  a  man  brought  them  beer  to  taste ;  it  was  Mes- 
senger's Stout.  Angela  took  her  glass  and  put  it  to  her 
lips  with  a  strange  emotion — she  felt  as  if  she  should 
like  a  quiet  place  to  sit  down  in  and  cry.  The  great 
place  was  hers — all  hers ;  and  this  was  the  beer  with 
which  her  mighty  fortune  had  been  made. 

"Is  it,"  she  asked,  looking  at  the  heavy  foam  of  the 
frothing  stout,  "  is  this  Messenger's  Entire?" 

Bunker  sat  down  and  drank  off  his  glass  before  re- 
plying. Then  he  laid  his  hands  upon  his  stick  and 
made  answer,  slowly,  remembering  that  he  was  en- 
gaged at  half-a-crown  an  hour,  which  is  one  halfpenny 
a  minute. 

"  This  is  not  Entire,"  he  said.  "  You  see.  Miss  Ken- 
nedy, there's  fashions  in  beer,  same  as  in  clothes ;  once 
it  was  all  Cooper,  now  you  never  hear  of  Cooper.  Then 
was  it  all  Half-an-arf — j'ou  never  hear  of  anj'  one  order- 
ing Half-an-arf  now.  Then  it  was  Stout.  Nothing 
would  go  down  but  Stout,  which  I  recommend  my- 
self, and  find  it  nourishing,  Next  Bitter  came  in,  and 
honest  Stout  was  despised;  now,  we're  all  for  Mild. 
As  for  Entire,  why — bless  my  soul ! — Entire  went  out 
before  I  was  born.  Why,  it  was  Entire  which  made 
the  fortune  of  the  first  Messenger  that  was — a  poor  lit- 
tle brewery  he  had,  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  in 
this  very  place,  because  it  was  cheap  for  rent.  In  those 
days  they  used  to  brew  Strong  ale.  Old  and  Strong ; 
Stout,  same  as  now ;  and  Twopenny,  which  was  small 
beer.  And  becaiise  the  Old  ale  was  too  strong,  and  the 
Stout  too  dear,  and  the  Twopenny  too  weak,  the  people 
used  to  mix  them  all  three  together,  and  the}"  called 
them  'Three  Threads;'  and  you  may  fancy  the  trouble 
it  was  for  the  pot-boys  to  go  to  one  cask  after  another, 
all  day  long,  because  thej^  had  no  beer  engines  then. 
Well,  what  did  Mr.  Messenger  do?  He  brewed  a  beer 
5 


66  ALL  SOBTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

as  strong  as  the  Three  Threads,  and  he  called  it  Mes- 
senger's Entire  Three  Threads,  meaning  that  here  you 
had  'em  all  in  one,  and  that's  what  made  his  fortune ; 
and  now,  young  lady,  you've  seen  all  I've  got  to  show 
you,  and  we  will  go." 

"I  make  bold,  young  woman,"  he  said,  as  they  went 
away,  "  to  give  you  a  warning  about  my  nephew.  He's 
a  good-looking  chap,  for  all  he's  worthless,  though  it's 
a  touch-and-go  style  that's  not  my  idea  of  good  looks. 
Still,  no  doubt  some  would  think  him  handsome.  Well, 
I  warn  you." 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Bunker.  Why  do 
you  warn  me?" 

"  Why,  anj'body  can  see  already  that  he's  taken  with 
your  good  looks.  Don't  encourage  him.  Don't  keep 
company  with  him.  He's  been  awaj^  a  good  many 
years — in  America — and  I  fear  he's  been  in  bad  com- 
pany. " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that. " 

"You  saw  his  sniggerin',  sneerin'  way  with  me, 
his  uncle.  That  doesn't  look  the  right  sort  of  man  to 
take  up  with,  I  think.  And  as  for  work,  he  seems  not 
to  want  any.  Says  he  can  afford  to  wait  a  bit.  Talks 
about  opening  a  cabinet-makin'  shop.  Well,  he  will 
have  none  of  my  money.  I  tell  him  that  beforehand. 
A  young  jackanapes !  A  painted  peacock !  I  believe, 
Miss  Kennedy,  that  he  drinks.  Don't  have  nothing  to 
say  to  him.  As  for  what  he  did  in  the  States,  and  why 
he  left  the  country,  I  don't  know;  and  if  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  ask." 

With  this  warning  he  left  her,  and  Angela  went 
home  trying  to  realize  her  own  great  possessions.  Hun- 
dreds of  houses ;  rows  of  streets ;  this  enormous  brew- 
ery, working  day  after  day  for  her  profit  and  advan- 
tage; and  these  invested  moneys,  these  rows  of  figures 
which  represented  her  personal  property.  All  hers! 
All  her  own !  All  the  property  of  a  girl !  Surely,  she 
thought,  this  was  a  heavy  burden  to  be  laid  upon  one 
frail  back. 


ALL  SOETS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  67 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE   CARES   OF   WEALTH. 

It  is,  perhaps,  a  survival  of  feudal  customs  that  in 
English  minds  a  kind  of  proj^rietorship  is  assmned 
over  one's  dependents,  those  who  labor  for  a  man  and 
ate  paid  by  him.  It  was  this  feeling  of  responsibility 
which  had  entered  into  the  mind  of  Angela,  and  was 
now  firmly  fixed  there.  All  these  men,  this  army  of 
seven  hundred  brewers,  drivers,  clerks,  accountants, 
and  the  rest,  seemed  to  belong  to  her.  Not  only  did  she 
pay  them  the  wages  and  salaries  which  gave  them  their 
daity  bread,  but  they  lived  in  her  o-wn  houses  among 
the  streets  which  lie  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  of  the 
Mile  End  Road.  The  very  chapels  where  they  wor- 
shipped, being  mostl}-  of  some  ISToncomformist  sect,  stood 
on  her  own  ground — everything  was  hers. 

The  richest  heiress  in  England !  She  repeated  this  to 
herself  over  and  over  again,  in  order  to  accustom  her- 
self to  the  responsibilities  of  her  position,  not  to  the 
pride  of  it.  If  she  dwelt  too  long  ui^on  the  subject  her 
brain  reeled.  What  was  she  to  do  with  all  her  money? 
A  man — like  her  grandfather — often  feels  joy  in  the 
mere  amassing  of  wealth ;  to  see  it  grow  is  enough 
pleasure ;  other  men  in  their  old  age  sigh  over  bygone 
3^ears,  which  seem  to  have  failed  in  labor  or  effort. 
Then  men  sigh  over  bj^gone  days  in  which  more  might 
have  been  saved.  But  girls  cannot  be  expected  to  reach 
these  heights.  Angela  only  weakly  thought  what  an 
immense  sum  of  money  she  had,  and  asked  herself  what 
she  could  do,  and  how  she  should  spend  her  wealth  to 
the  best  advantage. 

The  most  pitiable  circumstance  attending  the  posses- 
sion of  wealth  is  that  no  one  sympathizes  with  the  pos- 
sessor. Yet  his  or  her  sufferings  are  sometimes  very 
great.  They  begin  at  school,  where  a  boy  or  girl,  who 
is  going  to  be  very  rich,  feels  already  set  apart.  He 
loses  the  greatest  spur  to  action.  It  is  Avhen  they  grow 
up,  however,  that  the  real  trouble  begins.  ^  For  a  girl 
with  large  possessions  is  always  suspicious  lest  a  man 


68  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

should  pretend  to  love  her  for  the  sake  of  her  money ; 
she  has  to  suspect  all  kinds  of  people  Avho  want  her  to 
give,  lend,  advance,  or  promise  them  money;  she  is  the 
mere  butt  of  every  society,  hospital,  and  institution; 
her  table  is  crowded  every  morning  with  letters  from 
decayed  gentlewomen  and  necessitous  clergymen,  and 
recommenders  of  "  cases ;"  she  longs  to  do  good  to  her 
generation,  but  does  not  know  how ;  she  is  expected  to 
buy  quantities  of  things  which  she  does  not  want,  and 
to  pay  exorbitant  prices  for  everything ;  she  has  to  be  a 
patron  of  art:  she  is  invited  to  supply  every  woman 
throughout  the  country  who  wants  a  mangle,  w^ith  that 
useful  article;  she  is  told  that  it  is  her  duty  to  build 
new  churches  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land: 
she  is  earnestl}'^  urged  to  endow  new  Colonial  bishoprics 
over  all  the  surface  of  the  habitable  globe.  Then  she 
has  to  live  in  a  great  house  and  have  troops  of  idle  ser- 
vants. And,  whether  she  likes  it  or  not,  she  has  to  go 
a  great  deal  in  society. 

All  this,  without  the  least  sj^mpathy  or  pity  from 
those  who  ought  to  feel  for  her,  who  are  in  the  happy 
position  of  having  no  money.  Nobod}^  pities  an  heir- 
ess; to  express  pity  would  seem  like  an  exaggerated 
affectation  of  virtue,  the  merest  pedantry  of  superior- 
ity; it  would  not  be  believed.  Therefore,  while  all  the 
world  is  agreed  in  envying  her,  she  is  bemoaning  her 
sad  fate.     Fortunately,  she  is  rare. 

As  yet,  Angela  was  only  just  at  the  commencement 
of  her  troubles.  The  girls  at  Newnham  had  not  spoiled 
her  by  flattery  or  envy ;  some  of  them  even  pitied  her 
sad  burden  of  money ;  she  had  as  yet  only  realized  part 
of  the  terrible  isolation  of  wealth ;  she  had  not  grown 
jealous,  or  suspicious,  or  arrogant,  as  in  advancing 
years  often  happens  with  the  very  rich;  she  had  not  yet 
learned  to  regard  the  whole  world  as  composed  entirely 
of  money-grabbers.  All  she  had  felt  hitherto  was  that 
she  went  in  constant  danger  from  interested  wooers, 
and  tbat  youth,  combined  with  money-bags,  is  an  irre- 
sistible attraction  to  men  of  all  ages.  Now,  however, 
for  the  first  time  she  understood  the  magnitude  of  her 
possessions,  and  felt  the  real  weight  of  her  responsibil- 
ities. She  saw,  for  the  first  time,  the  hundreds  of  men 
working  for  her ;  she  saw  the  houses  whose  tenants  paid 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 


69 


rent  to  her;  she  visited  her  great  brewery,  and  she 
asked  herself  the  question,  which  Dives  no  doubt  fre- 
quently asked— What  she  had  done  to  be  specially  set 
apart  and  selected  from  humanity  as  an  exception  to 
the  rule  of  labor?  Even  Bunker's  complaint  about 
the  difficulty  of  putting  by  a  little,  and  his  indignation' 
because  she  herself  could  put  by  so  much,  seemed 
pathetic. 

She  walked  about  the  sad  and  monotonous  streets  of 
East  London,  reflecting  upon  these  subjects.  She  did 
not  know  where  she  was,  nor  the  name  of  any  street;  in 
a  general  way  she  knew  that  most  of  the  street  probably 
belonged  to  herself,  and  that  it  was  an  inexpressibly 
dreary  street.  When  she  was  tired  she  asked  her  way 
back  again.  No  one  insulted  her;  no  one  troubled  her- 
no  one  turned  aside  to  look  at  her.  When  she  went 
home  she  sat  silently,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  common 
sitting-room.  The  boarding-house  was  inexpressibly 
stupid  except  when  the  sprightlv  young  mechanic  was 
present,  and  she  was  even  angrv  with  herself  for  find- 
ing his  society  pleasant.  What  could  there  be,  she 
asked,  m  common  between  herself  and  this  workman? 
Then  she  wondered,  remembering  that  so  far  she  had 
found  nothing  in  her  own  mind  that  was  not  also  in  his. 
Could  it  be  that  two  years  of  Newnham  had  elevated 
her  mentally  no  higher  than  the  level  of  a  cabinet- 
maker? 

Her  meditation  brought  her,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
days,  to  the  point  of  action.     She  would  do  something 
She  therefore  wrote  a  letter  instructing  her  solicitors  to 
get  her,  immediately,   two  reports,  carefully  drawn  up 

-birst,  she  would  have  a  report  on  the  brewery  its 
average  profits  for  the  last  ten  years,  with  a  list  of  all 
the  emi^loyees,  the  number  of  years'  service,  the  pay 
they  received,  and,  as  regards  the  juniors,  the  charac- 
ters they  bore. 

Next  she  wanted  a-report  on  her  property  at  the  East 
End,  with  a  list  of  her  tenants,  their  occupations  and 
trades,  and  a  map  showing  the  position  of  her  houses. 

When  she  had  got  these  reports  she  would  be,  she 
relt,  m  a  position  to  w-ork  upon  them. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Bunker  not  having  yet  succeeded  in 
finding  a  house  suitable  for  her  dressmaking  business, 


70  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

she  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  on  walking  about  and 
to  make  herself  acquainted  with  the  place.  Once  or 
twice  she  was  joined  b}^  the  idle  apprentice,  who,  to  do 
him  justice,  was  always  ready  to  devote  his  unprofitable 
time  to  these  excursions,  which  his  sprightliness  en- 
livened. 

There  is  a  good  deal  to  see  in  and  about  Stepney, 
though  it  can  hardly  be  called  a  beautiful  suburb. 
Formerly  it  was  a  very  big  place,  so  big  that,  though 
Bethnal  Green  was  once  chopped  off  at  one  end  and 
Limehpuse  at  the  other,  not  to  speak  of  Shad  well,  Wap- 
ping,  Stratford,  and  other  great  cantles,  there  still  re- 
mains a  parish  as  big  as  St.  Pancras.  Yet,  though  it  is 
big,  it  is  not  proud.  Great  men  have  not  been  born  there 
or  lived  there ;  there  are  no  associations.  Stepney  Green 
has  not  even  got  its  Polly,  like  Paddington  Green  and 
Wapping  Old  Stairs ;  the  streets  are  all  mean,  and  the 
people  for  the  most  part  stand  upon  that  level  where  re- 
spectability— beautiful  qualit}' ! — begins. 

"Do  you  know  the  West  End V  "  Angela  asked  her 
companion  when  they  were  gazing  together  upon  an  un- 
lovel}'  avenue  of  small  houses  which  formed  a  street. 
She  was  thinking  how  monotonous  must  be  the  daily 
life  in  these  dreary  streets. 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  West  End.  What  is  it  you  regret 
in  your  comparison?" 

Angela  hesitated. 

'•  There  are  no  carriages  here, "  said  the  workman ; 
"  no  footmen  in  powder  or  coachmen  in  wigs ;  there  are 
no  ladies  on  horseback,  no  great  squares  with  big 
houses,  no  clubs,  no  opera-houses,  no  picture-galleries. 
All  the  rest  of  life  is  here." 

"But  these  things  make  life,"  said  the  heiress. 
"Without  society  and  art,  what  is  life?" 

"  Perhaps  these  people  find  other  pleasures ;  perhaps 
the  monotony  gets  relieved  by  hope  and  anxiety,  and 
love,  and  death,  and  such  things."  The  young  man 
forgot  how  the  weight  of  this  monotony  had  fallen  upon 
his  own  brain ;  he  remembered,  now,  that  his  compan- 
ion would  probably  have  to  face  this  dreariness  all  her 
life,  and  he  tried  in  a  kindly  spirit  to  divert  her  mind 
from  the  thought  of  it.  "  You  forget  that  each  life  is 
individual,  and  has  its  own  separate  interests ;  and  these 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  71 

are  apart  from  the  conditions  which  surround  it.  Do 
you  laiov/  my  cousin,  Tom  Coppin?" 

"No:  what  is  he?" 

"  He  is  a  printer  by  trade.  Of  late  years  he  has  been 
engaged  in  setting  up  atheistic  pubhcations.  Of  course, 
this  occupation  has  had  the  effect  of  making  him  an 
earnest  Christian.  Now  he  is  a  captain  of  the  Salva- 
tion Army." 

"But  I 'thought " 

"Don't  think,  Miss  Kennedy;  look  about  and  see  for 
yourself.  He  lives  on  tive-and-tvventy  shillings  a  week, 
in  one  room,  in  just  such  a  street  as  this.  I  laughed  at 
him  at  first;  now  I  laugh  no  longer.  You  can't  laugh 
at  a  man  who  spends  his  whole  life  preaching  and  sing- 
ing hj'mns  among  the  Whitechapel  roughs,  taking  as  a 
part  of  the  daj^'s  work  all  the  rotten  eggs,  brickbats, 
and  kicks  that  come  in  his  way.  Do  you  think  his  life 
would  be  less  monotonous  if  he  lived  in  Belgrave 
Square?" 

"  But  all  are  not  preachers  and  captains  in  the  Salva- 
tion Arm3\" 

"  No :  there  is  my  cousin  Dick.  We  are,  very  prop- 
erly, Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry.  Dick  is,  like  myself,  a 
cabinet-maker.  He  is  also  a  politician,  and  you  may 
hear  him  at  his  club  denouncing  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  the  Church,  and  monarchical  institutions,  and  he- 
reditary everything,  till  you  wonder  the  people  do  not 
rise  and  tear  all  down.  Thej^  don't,  jou  see,  because 
they  are  quite  accustomed  to  big  talk,  and  it  never 
means  anything,  and  they  are  not  really  touched  hj  the 
dreadful  wickedness  of  the  peers." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  j^our  cousins. " 

"  You  shall.  They  don't  like  me,  because  I  have  been 
brought  up  in  a  somewhat  different  school.  But  that 
does  not  greatly  matter." 

"Will  they  like  me?"  It  was  a  very  innocent  ques- 
tion, put  in  perfect  inaocence,  and  yet  the  young  man 
blushed. 

"Ev^erybody,"  he  said,  "is  bound  to  like  5'ou." 

She  changed  color  and  became  silent,  for  a  while. 

He  went  on  presentlj*. 

"  We  are  all  as  happy  as  we  deserve  to  be,  I  suppose. 
If  these  people  knew  what  to  do  in  order  to  make  them- 


72  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  01  MEN. 

selves  happier,  they  would  go  and  do  that  thing.  Mean- 
time, there  is  always  love  for  everybody,  and  success, 
and  presently  the  end — is  not  life  everywhere  monoto- 
nous?" 

" No,"  she  replied  stoutly;  "mine  is  not." 

He  was  thinking  at  the  moment  that  of  all  lives  a 
dressmaker's  must  be  one  of  the  most  monotonous.  She 
remembered  that  she  was  a  dressmaker,  and  explained : 

"There  are  the  changes  of  fashion,  you  see." 

"Yes,  but  you  are  young,"  he  replied,  from  his  van- 
tage-ground of  twenty -three  years,  being  two  years  her 
superior.  '*  Mine  is  monotonous  when  I  come  to  think 
of  it.  Only,  j'ou  see,  one  does  not  think  of  it  oftener 
than  one  can  help.  Besides,  as  far  as  I  have  got  I  like 
the  monotony." 

"  Do  you  like  work?" 

"  Not  much,  I  own.     Do  you?" 

"No." 

"  Yet  you  are  going  to  settle  down  at  Stepney. " 

"And  you,  too?" 

"As  for  me,  I  don't  know."  The  young  man  colored 
slightly.  "  I  may  go  away  again  soon  and  find  work 
elsewhere." 

"I  was  walking  yesterday,"  she  went  on,  "in  the 
great,  great  church-yard  of  Stepney  Church.  Do  you 
know  it?" 

"  Yes — that  is,  I  have  net  been  inside  the  walls.  I 
am  not  fond  of  church-3^ards." 

"  There  they  lie — acres  of  graves.  Thousands  upon 
thousands  of  dead  people,  and  not  one  of  the  whole  host 
remembered.  All  have  lived,  worked,  hoped  much, 
got  a  little,  I  suppose,  and  died.  And  the  world  none 
the  better." 

"Nay,  that  \o\\  cannot  tell." 

"Not  one  of  all  remembered,"  she  repeated.  "There 
is  an  epitaph  in  the  church-yard  which  might  do  for 
every  one : 

"  '  Here  lies  the  body  of  Daniel  Saul — 
Spitalfields  weaver ;  and  that  is  all. ' 

That  is  all." 

"What  more  did  the  fellow  deserve?"  asked  her  com- 
panion.    "  No  doubt  he  was  a  very  good  weaver.     Why, 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  73 

he  has  got  a  great  posthumous  reputation.  You  have 
quoted  him." 

He  did  not  quite  follow  her  line  of  thought.  She  was 
thinking  in  some  vague  way  of  the  waste  of  material. 

"  They  had  very  little  power  of  raising  the  world,  to 
be  sure.  They  were  quite  poor,  ill-educated,  and  with- 
out resource." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  replied  her  companion,  "that  no- 
body has  any  power  of  raising  the  world.  Look  at  the 
preachers  and  the  writers  and  the  teachers.  By  their 
united  efforts  they  contrive  to  shore  up  the  world  and 
keep  it  from  falling  lower.  Every  now  and  then  down 
we  go,  flop — a  foot  or  two  of  civilization  lost.  Then 
we  lose  a  hundred  years  or  so  until  we  can  get  shoved 
up  again." 

"  Should  not  rich  men  try  to  shove  up,  as  you  call  it?" 

"  Some  of  them  do  try,  I  believe,"  he  replied ;  "  I  don't 
know  how  they  succeed." 

"  Suppose,  for  instance,  this  young  lady,  this  Miss 
Messenger,  who  owns  all  this  property,  were  to  use  it 
for  the  benefit  of  the  people,  how  would  she  begin,  do 
you  suppose?" 

"  Most  likely  she  would  bestow  a  quantity  of  money 
to  a  hospital,  which  would  pauperize  the  doctors,  or  she 
would  give  away  quantities  of  blankets,  bread,  and 
beef  in  the  winter,  which  would  pauperize  the  people. " 

Angela  sighed. 

"  That  is  not  very  encouraging. " 

"  What  you  could  do  by  yourself,  if  you  pleased, 
among  the  working-girls  of  the  place,  would  be,  I  sup- 
pose, worth  ten  times  what  she  could  do  with  all  her 
giving.  I'm  not  much  in  the  charity  line  myself,  Miss 
Kennedy,  but  I  should  say,  from  three  weeks'  observa- 
tion of  the  place  and  conversation  with  the  respectable 
Bunker,  that  Miss  Messenger's  money  is  best  kept  out 
of  the  parish,  which  gets  on  very  well  without  it." 

"  Her  money !     Yes,  I  see.     Yet  she  herself "     She 

paused. 

"  We  working  men  and  women " 

"You  are  not  a  working-man,  Mr.  Goslett."  She 
faced  him  with  her  steady,  honest  eyes,  as  if  she  would 
read  the  truth  in  his.  "  Whatever  else  you  are,  you  are 
not  a  working-man." 


74  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  replied  without  the  least  change  of  color : 

"  Indeed,  I  am  the  son  of  Sergeant  Goslett,  of  the 
— th  Regiment,  who  fell  in  the  Indian  Mutiny.  I  am 
the  nephew  of  good  old  Benjamin  Bunker,  the  virtuous 
and  the  disinterested.  I  was  educated  in  rather  a  bet- 
ter way  than  most  of  my  class,  that  is  all." 

"  Is  it  true  that  j^ou  have  lived  in  America?" 

"  Quite  true."  He  did  not  say  how  long  he  had  lived 
there. 

Angela,  with  her  own  guilty  secret,  was  suspicious 
that  perhaps  this  j'oung  man  might  also  have  his. 

"  Men  of  your  class,"  she  said,  "  do  not  as  a  rule  talk 
like  you." 

"  Matter  of  education — that  is  all. " 

"And  you  are  really  a  cabinet-maker?" 

"  If  you  will  look  into  my  room  and  see  my  lathe,  I 
will  show  you  specimens  of  my  work,  O  thou  unbe- 
liever! Did  you  think  that  I  might  have 'done  some- 
thing,'  and  so  be  fain  to  hide  my  head?" 

It  was  a  cruel  thing  to  suspect  him  in  this  way,  yet 
the  thought  had  crossed  her  mind  that  he  might  be  a 
fugitive  from  the  law  and  society,  protected  for  some 
reason  by  Bunker. 

Harry  returned  to  the  subject  of  the  place. 

"What  we  want  here,"  he  said,  "as  it  seems  to  me, 
is  a  little  more  of  the  pleasure  and  graces  of  life.  To 
begin  with,  we  are  not  poor  and  in  misery,  but  for  the 
most  part  fairly  well  off.  We  have  great  works  here 
— half  a  dozen  breweries,  though  none  so  big  as  Mes- 
senger's; chemical  works,  sugar  refineries,  though  these 
are  a  little  depressed  at  present,  I  believe ;  here  are  all 
the  docks;  then  we  have  silk-weavers,  rope-makers, 
sail-makers,  match-makers,  cigar-makers;  we  build 
ships;  we  tackle  jute,  though  what  jute  is,  and  what 
to  do  with  it,  I  know  not;  we  cut  corks;  w^e  make 
soap,  and  we  mak-e  fireworks ;  we  build  boats.  When 
all  our  works  are  in  full  blast,  we  make  quantities  of 
money.  See  us  on  Sundays,  we  are  not  a  bad-looking 
lot ;  healthy,  well-dressed,  and  tolerably  rosy.  But  we 
have  no  pleasures." 

"  There  must  be  some. " 

"  A  theatre  and  a  music-hall  in  Whitechapel  Road. 
That  has  to  serve  for  two  millions  of  people.     Now,  if 


ALL  SORTS  A'ND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  75 

this  young  heiress  wanted  to  do  any  good,  she  should 
builcl  a  Palace  of  Pleasure  here." 

"  A  Palace  of  Pleasure !  "  she  repeated.  "  It  sounds 
well.     Should  it  be  a  kind  of  a  Crystal  Palace?" 

"  Well !"  It  was  quite  a  new  idea,  but  he  replied  as 
if  he  had  been  considering  the  subject  for  years.  "  Not 
quite — with  modifications. " 

"  Let  us  talk  over  your  Palace  of  Pleasure,"  she  said, 
"  at  another  time.  It  sounds  well.  What  else  should 
she  do?" 

"  That  is  such  a  gigantic  thing  that  it  seems  enough 
for  one  person  to  attempt.  However,  we  can  find  some- 
thing else  for  her — why,  take  schools.  There  is  not  a 
public  school  for  the  whole  two  millions  of  East  Lon- 
don. Not  one  place  in  which  boys — to  say  nothing  of 
girls,  can  be  brought  up  in  generous  ideas.  She  must 
establish  at  least  half  a  dozen  public  schools  for  boys 
and  as  many  for  girls." 

"That  is  a  very  good  idea.  Will  you  write  and  tell 
her  so?" 

"  Then  there  are  libraries,  reading-rooms,  clubs,  but 
all  these  would  form  part  of  the  Palace  of  Pleasure." 

"  Of  course.  I  would  rather  call  it  a  Palace  of  De- 
light. Pleasure  seems  to  touch  a  lower  note.  We 
could  have  music-rooms  for  concerts  as  well." 

"And  a  school  for  music."  The  young  man  became 
animated  as  the  scheme  unfolded  itself. 

"  And  a  school  for  dancing." 

"Miss  Kennedy,"  he  said  with  enthusiasm,  "you 
ought  to  have  the  spending  of  all  this  money !  And — • 
why,  you  would  hardly  believe  it — but  there  is  not  in 
the  whole  of  this  parish  of  Stepney  a  single  dance  given 

in  the  year.     Think  of  that!     But  perhaps "    He 

stopped  again. 

"You  mean  that  dressmakers  do  not,  as  a  rule, 
dance?  However,  I  do,  and  so  there  must  be  a  school 
for  dancing.  There  must  be  a  great  college  to  teach  all 
these  accomplishments." 

"  Happy  Stepney  !  "  cried  the  5'oung  man,  carried  out 
of  himself."  "Thrice  happy  Stepney!  Glorified 
Whitechapel !  Beautiful  Bow!  What  things  await 
ye  in  the  fortunate  future!" 


76  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  left  her  at  the  door  of  Bormalack's,  and  went  off 
on  some  voyage  of  discoveiy  of  his  own. 

The  girl  retreated  to  her  own  room.  She  had  now 
hired  a  sitting-room  all  to  herself,  and  paid  three 
months  in  advance,  and  sat  down  to  think.  Then  she 
took  paper  and  pen  and  began  to  write. 

She  was  writing  down,  while  it  was  hot  in  her  head, 
the  three-fold  scheme  which  this  remarkable  young 
workman  had  put  into  her  head. 

"We  women  are  weak  creatures,"  she  said  with  a 
sigh.  "  We  long  to  be  up  and  doing,  but  we  cannot 
carve  out  our  work  for  ourselves.  A  man  must  be  with 
us  to  suggest  or  direct  it.  The  College  of  Art — yes,  we 
will  call  it  the  College  of  Art ;  the  Palace  of  Delight ; 
the  public  schools.  I  should  think  that  between  the 
three  a  good  deal  of  money  might  be  got  through.  And 
oh !  to  think  of  converting  this  dismal  suburb  into  a 
home  for  refined  and  cultivated  people !" 

In  blissful  revery  she  saw  already  the  mean  houses 
turned  into  red  brick  Queen  Anne  terraces  and  villas ;  the 
dingy  streets  were  planted  with  avenues  of  trees ;  art 
flourished  in  the  house  as  well  as  out  of  it ;  life  was 
rendered  gracious,  sweet,  and  lovely. 

And  to  think  that  this  result  was  due  to  the  sugges- 
tion of  a  common  working-man ! 

But  then,  he  had  lived  in  the  States.  Doubtless  in 
the  States  all  the  working-men But  was  that  pos- 
sible? 


CHAPTER    VI. 

A   FIRST   STEP. 

With  this  great  programme  before  her,  the  responsi- 
bilities of  wealth  were  no  longer  so  oppressive.  When 
power  can  be  used  for  beneficent  purposes,  who  would 
not  be  powerful?  And  beside  the  mighty  shadow  of 
this  scheme,  the  smaller  project  for  which  Bunker  was 
finding  a  house  looked  small  indeed.  Yet  was  it  not 
small,  but  great,  and  destined  continually  to  grow 
greater? 

Bunker  came  to  see  her  from  day  to  day,  reporting 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  77 

progress.  He  heard  of  a  house  here  or  a  house  there, 
and  went  to  see  it.  But  it  was  too  large;  and  of  an- 
other, but  it  was  too  small ;  and  of  a  third,  but  it  was 
not  convenient  for  her  purpose ;  and  so  on.  Each  house 
took  up  a  whole  day  in  examination,  and  Bunker's  bill 
was  getting  on  with  great  freedom. 

The  delay,  howev^er,  gave  Angela  time  to  work  out 
her  new  ideas  on  paper.  She  invoked  the  assistance  of 
her  friend  the  cabinet-maker  with  ideas ;  and,  under  the 
guise  of  amusing  themselves,  they  drew  up  a  long  and 
business-like  prospectus  of  the  proposed  new  institu- 
tions. First,  there  were  the  High  Schools,  of  which 
she  would  found  six — three  for  boys  and  three  for  girls. 
The  great  feature  of  these  schools  was  to  be  that  they 
should  give  a  liberal  education  for  a  very  small  fee,  and 
that  in  their  play-grounds,  their  discipline,  and,  as  far 
as  possible,  their  hours,  they  were  to  resemble  the  great 
public  schools. 

"  They  must  be  endowed  for  their  masters' and  mis- 
tresses' salaries,  and  with  scholarships;  and — and — I 
think  the  boys  and  girls  ought  to  have  dinner  in  the 
school,  so  as  not  to  go  home  all  day ;  and — and — there 
will  be  many  things  to  provide  for  each  school." 

She  looked  as  earnest  over  this  amusement,  Harry 
said,  as  if  she  were  herself  in  possession  of  the  fortune 
which  they  were  thus  administering.  They  agreed  that 
when  the  schools  were  built,  an  endowment  of  £  70,000 
each,  which  would  yield  £  2,000  a  year,  ought  to  be 
enough,  with  the  school  fees,  to  provide  for  the  educa- 
tion of  five  hundred  in  each  school.  Then  they  pro- 
ceeded with  the  splendid  plan  of  the  new  college.  It 
was  agreed  that  learning,  properl}'  so  called,  should  be 
entirely  kept  out  of  the  programme.  No  political  econ- 
omy, said  the  Newnham  student,  should  be  taught 
there.  Nor  any  of  the  usual  things — Latin,  Greek, 
mathematics,  and  so  forth — said  the  young  man  from 
the  United  States.     What,  then,  remained? 

Everj^thing.  The  difficulty  in  making  such  a  selec- 
tion of  studies  is  to  know  what  to  omit. 

"  We  are  to  have, "  said  Harr}',  now  almost  as  enthu- 
siastic as  Angela  herself,  "a  thing  never  before  at- 
tempted. We  are  to  have  a  College  of  Art.  What  a 
grand  idea!     It  was  yours,  Miss  Kennedy." 


78  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDTTIOXS  OF  MEN. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "it  was  yours.  If  it  comes  to 
anything,  we  shall  always  remember  that  it  was  yours." 

An  amiable  contest  was  tinished  b}"  their  recollecting 
that  it  was  only  a  play,  and  the}^  laughed  and  went  on, 
half  ashamed,  and  yet  both  full  of  enthusiasm. 

"  The  College  of  Art !"  he  repeated ;  "  why,  there  are 
a  hundred  kinds  of  art;  let  us  include  accomplish- 
ments." 

They  would ;  they  did. 

They  finally  resolved  that  there  should  be  professors, 
lecturers,  or  teachers,  with  convenient  class-rooms,  the- 
atres and  lecture-halls  in  the  following  accomplishments 
and  graces :  Dancing,  but  there  must  be  the  old  as  well 
as  the  new  kinds  of  dancing.  The  waltz  was  not  to 
exclude  the  minuet,  the  reel,  the  country  dance,  or  the 
old  square  dances;  the  pupils  would  also  have  such 
dances  as  the  bolero  and  the  tarcoi fella,  and  other  na- 
tional jumpories.  Singing,  which  was  to  be  a  great 
feature,  as  anybody  could  sing,  said  Angela,  if  tliey 
were  taught.  "  Except  my  Uncle  Bunker !"  said  Harry. 
Then  there  were  to  be  musical  instruments  of  all  kinds. 
Skating,  bicj'cling,  la%vn  tennis,  racquets,  fives,  and 
all  kinds  of  games;  rowing,  billiards,  archery,  rifle- 
shooting.  Then  there  Avas  to  be  acting,  with  reading 
and  recitation ;  there  were  to  be  classes  on  gardening, 
on  cookery,  and  on  the  laws  of  beauty  in  costume. 

"  The  East  End  shall  be  independent  of  the  rest  of  the 
world  in  fashion, "  said  Angela ;  "  we  will  dress  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  Art!" 

"  You  shall, "  cried  Harry,  "  and  your  own  girls  shall  be 
the  new  dressmakers  to  the  whole  of  glorified  Stepney." 

Then  there  were  to  be  lectures,  not  in  literature,  but 
in  letter-writing,  especiall}^  in  love-letter  writing,  versi- 
fying, novel-writing,  and  essay -writing ;  that  is  to  say, 
on  the  more  delightful  forms  of  literature — so  that  poets 
and  novelists  should  arise,  and  the  East  End,  hitherto 
a  barren  desert,  should  blossom  with  flowers.  Then 
there  was  to  be  a  Professor  of  Grace,  because  a  graceful 
carriage  of  the  body  is  so  generally  neglected;  and 
Harry,  who  had  a  slim  figure  and  long  legs,  began  to 
indicate  how  the  professor  would  probably  carry  himself. 
Next  there  were  to  be  Professors  of  Painting,  Drawing, 
Sculpture  and  Design ;  and  lectures  on  Furniture,  Color, 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  79 

and  Architecture.  The  arts  of  photography,  china  paint- 
ing, and  so  forth  were  to  be  cultivated;  and  there  wore 
to  be  classes  for  the  encouragement  of  leather-work, 
crewel-work,  fret-work,  brass-work,  wood  and  ivory 
carving,  and  so  forth. 

"There  shall  be  no  house  in  the  East  End,"  cried  the 
girl,  "that  shall  not  have  its  panels  painted  by  one 
member  of  the  family;  its  woodwork  carved  by  an- 
other,  its  furniture  designed  by  a  third,  its  windows 
planted  with  flowers  by  another." 
Her  eyes  glowed,  her  lips  trembled. 
'^' You  ought  to  have' had  the  millions,"  said  Harry.  - 
"Nay,  you,  for  you  devised  it  all,"  she  replied.     She 
was  so  glowing,  so  rosy  red,  so  soft  and  sweet  to  look 
upon;  her  eyes  were  so  full  of  possible  love — though  of 
love  she  was  not  thinking— that  almost  the  young  man 
fell  upon  his  knees  to  worship  this  Venus. 

"And  all  these  beautiful  things,"  she  went  on,  breath- 
less, "  are  only  designed  for  the  sake  of  the  Palace  of 
Delight. 

"  It  shall  stand  somewhere  near  the  central  place,  this 
Stepney  Green,  so  that  all  the  East  can  get  to  it.  It 
shall  have  many  halls,"  she  went  on.  "One  of  them 
shall  be  for  concerts,  and  there  shall  be  an  organ ;  one 
of  them  shall  be  for  a  theatre,  and  there  will  be  a  stage 
and  everything;  one  shall  be  a  dancing-hall,  one\ 
skating  rink,  one  a  hall  for  lectures,  readings  and  reci- 
tations ;  one  a  picture  gallery,  one  a  permanent  exhibi- 
tion of  our  small  arts.  We  will  have  our  concerts  per- 
formed from  our  School  of  Music ;  our  plavs  shall  be 
played  by  our  amateurs  taught  at  our  School  of  Acting; 
our  exhibitions  shall  bo  supplied  by  our  own  people ;  the 
things  will  be  sold,  and  they  will  soon  be  sold  off  and 
replaced,  because  they  will  be  cheap.  Oh !  oh !  oh !" 
She  clasped  her  hands,  and  fell  back  in  her  chair,  over- 
powered with  the  thought. 

"It  will  cost  much  money,"  said  Harry  weakly,  as 
if  money  was  any  object — in  dreams. 

"The  college  must  be  endowed  witn  £30,000  a 
year,  which  is  a  million  of  money,"  xVngela  replied, 
making  a  little  calculation.  "That  money  must  be 
found.  As  for  the  palace,  it  will  require  nothing  but 
the  building,  and  a  small  annual  income  to  pay  for  re- 


80  ALL  SQRTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

pairs  and  servants.  It  will  be  governed  by  a  board  of 
directors,  elected  by  the  people  themselves,  to  whom 
the  Palace  will  belong.  And  no  one  shall  pay  or  be 
paid  for  an}^  performance.  And  the  only  condition  of 
admission  w'ill  be  good  behavior,  with  exclusion  as  a 
penalty." 

The  thing  which  she  contemplated  was  a  deed  the 
like  of  which  makes  to  tingle  the  ears  of  those  who  hear 
it.  To  few,  indeed,  is  it  given  to  commniiicate  to  a 
whole  nation  this  strange  and  not  unpleasant  sen- 
sation. 

One  need  not  disguise  the  fact  that  the  possession  of 
this  power,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  own  benevolent 
intentions,  gave  Angela  a  better  opinion  of  herself  than 
she  had  ever  known  before.  Herein,  my  friends,  lies, 
if  you  wdll  rightly  regard  it,  the  true  reason  of  the  fein- 
inino  love  for  powder  illustrated  by  Chaucer.  For  the 
few  who  have  from  time  to  time  wielded  authority  have 
ever  been  persuaded  that  they  Avi elded  it  wisely,  benev- 
olently, religiously,  and  have  of  course  congratulated 
themselves  on  the  possession  of  so  much  virtue.  What 
mischiefs,  thought  Elizabeth  of  England,  Catharine  of 
Russia,  Semiramis  of  Babylon,  and  Angela  of  White- 
chapel,  might  have  follow^ed  had  a  less  wise  and  virtu- 
ous person  been  on  the  throne ! 

It  was  not  unnatural,  considering  how  much  she  w^as 
with  Harry  at  this  time,  and  how^  long  were  their  talks 
with  each  other,  that  she  should  have  him  a  great  deal 
in  her  mind.  For  these  ideas  were  certainly  his,  not 
hers.  Newnham,  she  reflected  humbled,  had  not  taught 
her  to  originate.  She  knew^  that  he  was  but  a  cabinet- 
maker by  trade.  Yet,  when  she  involuntarily  compared 
him,  his  talk,  his  manners,  his  bearing,  wath  the  men 
whom  she  had  met,  the  young  Dons  and  the  undergrad- 
uates of  Cambridge,  the  clever  j-^oung  fellows  in  society 
who  were  reported  to  write  for  the  Saturday.,  and 
the  Berties  and  the  Algies  of  daily  life,  she  owned  to 
herself  that  in  no  single  point  did  this  cabinet-maker 
fellow  compare  unfavorably  with  any  of  them.  He 
seemed  as  w'ell  taught  as  the  last-made  Fellow^  of  Trin- 
ity who  came  to  lecture  on  Literature  and  Poetrj^  at 
Newmham ;  as  cultivated  as  the  mediseval  Fellow  who 
took  Philosophy  and  Psychology,  and  was  supposed  to 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITTOXS  OF  MEN.  81 

entertain  ideas  on  religion  so  original  as  to  amount  to 
a  Fifth  Gospel :  as  quick  as  the  most  thorough-going 
society  man  who  has  access  to  studios,  literary  circles, 
musical  people,  and  aesthetes;  and  as  careless  as  any 
Bertie  or  Algie  of  the  whole  set.  This  it  was  which 
made  her  blusii,  because  if  he  had  been  a  common  man,  a 
mere  Banker,  he  might,  with  his  knowledge  of  his  class, 
have  proved  so  useful  a  servant  to  her ;  so  admirable  a 
vizier.  Now,  unfortunately,  she  felt  that  she  could  only 
make  him  useful  in  this  way  after  she  had  confided  in 
him ;  and  that  to  confide  in  him  might  raise  dangerous 
thoughts  in  the  young  man's  head.  No:  she  must  not 
confide  in  him. 

It  shows  Avhat  a  thoughtful  young  person  Angela  was, 
that  she  would  blusli  all  by  herself  only  to  think  of 
danger  to  Harrj'^  Goslett, 

She  passed  all  that  night  and  the  whole  of  the  next 
day  and  night  in  a  dream  over  the  Palace  of  Delight 
and  the  college  for  educating  people  in  the  sweet  and 
pleasant  things — the  College  of  Art. 

On  the  next  morning  a  cold  chill  fell  upon  her,  caused 
I  know  not  how;  not  by  the  weather,  which  was  the 
bright  and  hot  weather  of  last  Jul}' ;  not  by  any  ail- 
ment of  her  own,  because  Angela  owned  the  most  per- 
fect mechanism  ever  constructed  by  Nature ;  nor  by  any 
unpleasantness  in  the  house,  because,  now  that  she  had 
her  own  room,  she  generallj'  breakfasted  alone ;  nor  by 
anything  in  the  daily  papers — which  frequently,  by 
their  evil  telegrams  and  terrifj'ing  forebodings,  do  poison 
the  spring  and  the  fountain-head  of  the  day;  nor  by 
any  letter,  because  the  only  one  she  had  was  from  Con- 
stance Woodcote  at  Newnham,  and  it  told  the  welcome 
news  that  she  was  appointed  Mathematical  Lecturer 
with  so  much  a  head  for  fees,  and  imploring  Angela  to 
remember  her  promise  that  she  would  endow  Newnham 
with  a  scholarship.  Endow  Newnham !  Why,  she 
was  going  to  have  a  brand-new  college  of  her  own,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  high  schools  for  bo^'S  and  girls. 
Perhaps  the  cause  of  her  depression  was  the  appearance 
of  Bunker,  who  came  to  tell  her  that  he  had  at  last 
found  the  house  which  would  suit  her.  No  other  house 
in  the  neighborhood  was  in  any  way  to  compare  with 
it ;  the  house  stood  close  by,  at  the  southwest  corner  of 
6 


82  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Stepney  Green.  It  was  ready  for  occupation,  the  situ- 
ation was  as  desirable  as  that  of  Tirzah  the  Beautiful ; 
the  rent  was  extremely  low,  considering  the  many  ad- 
vantages ;  all  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  place,  he 
declared,  would  flock  around  a  dressmaker  situated  in 
Stepney  Green  itself ;  there  were  rooms  for  show-rooms, 
with  plenty  of  other  rooms  and  everything  which  would 
be  required ;  finall)^  as  if  this  were  an  additional  recom- 
mendation, the  house  belonged  to  himself. 

"I  am  ready,"  he  said,  with  a  winning  smile,  "to 
make  a  sacrifice  of  my  own  interests  in  order  to  oblige 
a  young  lady,  and  I  will  take  a  lower  rent  from  you 
than  I  would  from  anybody  else.*' 

She  went  with  him  to  "  view"  the  house.  One  looks 
at  a  picture,  a  horse,  an  estate,  a  book,  but  one  "  views  " 
a  house.  Subtle  and  beautiful  distinction,  which  shows 
the  poetry  latent  in  the  heart  of  every  house  agent !  It 
was  Bunker's  own.  Surely  that  was  not  the  reason 
why  it  was  let  at  double  the  rent  of  the  next  house, 
Avhich  belonged  to  Angela  herself,  nor  why  the  tenant 
had  to  undertake  all  the  repairs,  paper,  and  painting, 
external  and  internal,  nor  why  the  rent  began  from  that 
very  da}^  instead  of  the  half-quarter  or  the  next  quarter- 
day.  Bunker  himself  assured  Miss  Kennedy  that  he 
had  searched  the  wdiole  neighborhood  for  a  suitable 
place,  but  could  find  none  so  good  as  his  own  house. 
As  for  the  houses  of  the  Messenger  propertj^,  they  were 
liable,  he  said,  to  the  demands  of  a  lawyer's  firm,  which 
had  no  mercy  on  a  tenant,  while,  as  for  himself,  he  was 
full  of  compassion,  and  alwaj^s  ready  to  listen  to  reason. 
He  wanted  no  other  recommendation  than  a  year's  rent 
paid  in  advance,  and  would  undertake  to  execute,  at  the 
tenant's  cost,  the  whole  of  the  j^ainting,  papering,  white- 
washing, roofing,  pipes,  chimneys,  and  general  work 
himself;  "  whereas,  young  lady,"  he  added,  "  if  you  had 
taken  one  of  those  Messenger  houses,  you  cannot  tell  in 
what  hands  you  would  have  found  yourself,  nor  what 
charges  you  would  have  had  to  pay." 

He  shook  his  fat  head,  and  rattled  his  keys  in  hiig 
pocket.  So  strong  is  the  tendency  of  the  human  mind 
to  believe  what  is  said,  in  spite  of  all  exj^erience  to  the 
contrary,  that  his  victim  smiled  and  thanked  him, 
knowing  very  well  that  the  next  minute  she  would  be 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  83 

angry  with  herself  for  so  easily  becoming  a  dupe  to  a 
clumsy  rogue. 

She  thanked  him  for  his  consideration,  she  said,  yet 
she  was  uneasilj^  conscious  that  he  was  overreaching 
her  in  some  way,  and  she  hesitated. 

"  On  the  Green, "  he  said.  "  What  a  position !  Look- 
ing out  on  the  garden  I  With  such  rooms!  And  so 
cheap !" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied;  "I  must  consult  some 
one. " 

"As  to  that,"  he  said,  "there  may  be  another  tenant; 
I  can't  keep  offers  open.  Take  it,  miss,  or  leave  it. 
There!" 

While  she  still  hesitated,  he  added  one  more  recom- 
mendation. 

"  An  old  house  it  is,  but  solid,  and  will  stand  forever. 
Wh}",  old  Mr.  Messenger  was  born  here." 

"  Was  he  ?"  she  cried,  '"'  was  my — was  Mr.  Messenger 
actually  born  here?" 

She  hesitated  no  longer.  She  took  the  house  at  his 
own  price;  she  accepted  his  terms,  extortionate  and 
grasping  as  they  were. 

\Vhen  the  bargain  was  completed — when  she  had 
promised  to  sign  the  agreement  for  a  twelvemonth,  pay 
a  year  in  advance,  and  api^oint  the  disinterested  one  her 
executor  of  repairs,  she  returned  to  Bormalack's.  In 
the  doorway,  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  lounged  the  idle 
apprentice. 

''  I  saw  you,"  he  said,  "with  the  benevolent  Bunker. 
You  have  fallen  a  prey  to  my  uncle?" 

"I  have  taken  a  house  from  him." 

"  The  two  phrases  are  convertible.  Those  who  take 
his  houses  are  his  victims.  I  hope  no  great  mischief  is 
done." 

"Not  much,  I  think." 

The  young  man  threw  away  his  cigarette. 

"Seriously,  Miss  Kenned}',"  he  said,  "my good  uncle 
will  possess  himself  of  all  the  money  he  can  get  out  of 
you.     Have  a  care." 

"  He  can  do  me  no  harm,  thank  you  all  the  same.  I 
wanted  a  house  soon,  and  he  has  found  me  one.  What 
does  it  matter  if  I  pay  a  little  more  than  I  ought?" 

"What  does  it  matter?"     Harry  was  not  versed  in 


84  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

details  of  trade,  but  he  knew  enough  to  feel  that  this 
kind  of  talk  was  unpractical.  "  Wliat  does  it  matter? 
My  dear  young  lady,  if  you  go  into  business,  you  must 
look  after  the  sixpences." 

Miss  Kennedy  looked  embarrassed.  She  had  betrayed 
herself,  she  thought.  "  I  know — I  know.  But  he 
talked  me  over." 

"I  have  heard,"  said  the  practical  man,  looking  pro- 
foundly wise,  "  that  he  who  would  save  money  must 
even  consider  that  there  is  a  difference  between  a  guinea 
and  a  sovereign;  and  that  he  shouldn't  pay  a  cabman 
more  than  twice  his  fare,  and  that  it  is  wrong  to  pay 
half-a-guinea  for  Heidsieck  Monopole  when  he  can  get 
Pommery  and  Greno  at  seven-and-sixpence." 

Then  he,  too,  paused  abruptly,  because  he  felt  as  if 
he  had  betrayed  himself.  What  have  cabinet-makers 
to  do  with  Pommery  and  Greno?  Fortunately,  Angela 
did  not  hear  the  latter  part  of  the  speech.  She  was  re- 
flecting on  the  ease  with  which  a  crafty  man — say 
Bunker — may  compass  his  ends  with  the  simple — say 
herself. 

"  I  do  not  pretend,"  he  said,  "to  know  all  the  ropes, 
but  I  should  not  have  allowed  you  to  be  taken  in  quite 

so  readily  by  this  good  uncle.     Do  you  know "    His 

eyes,  when  they  were  serious,  which  was  not  often, 
were  really  good.  Angela  perceived  they  were  serious 
now :  "  Do  you  know  that  the  name  of  the  uncle  who 
was  indirectly,  so  to  speak,  connected  with  the  Robin 
Redbreasts  was  originally  Bunker?  He  changed  it 
after  the  children  Avere  dead,  and  he  came  into  the  prop- 
erty." 

"I  wish  you  had  been  with  me,"  she  said  simply. 
"  But  I  suppose  I  must  take  my  chance,  as  other  girls  do. " 

"  Most  other  girls  have  got  men  to  advise  them. 
Have  you  no  one?" 

"  I  might  have  " — she  was  thinking  of  her  lawyers, 
who  were  paid  to  advise  her  if  required.  "  But  I  will 
find  out  things  for  mj^self." 

"  And  at  what  a  price !  Are  your  pockets  lined  with 
gold,  Miss  Kennedy?"  They  certainly  were,  but  he  did 
not  know  it. 

"  I  will  try  to  be  careful.     Thank  you." 

"  As  regards  going  with  you,  I  am  always  at  your 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN  85 

command.  I  will  be  your  servant,  if  you  will  accept 
me  as  such." 

This  was  going  a  step  further  than  seemed  altogether 
safe.  Angela  was  hardly  prepared  to  receive  a  cabinet- 
maker, however  polite  and  refined  he  might  seem,  as  a 
lover. 

"  I  believe, "  she  said,  "  that  in  our  class  of  life  it  is 
customary  for  young  people  to  'keep  company,'  is  it 
not?" 

"  It  is  not  uncommon,"  he  replied,  with,  much  earn- 
estness. "  The  custom  has  even  been  imitated  by  the 
higher  classes." 

"  What  I  mean  is  this,  that  I  am  not  going  to  keep 
company  with  any  one ;  but,  if  you  please  to  help  me, 
if  I  ask  3"our  advice,  I  shall  be  grateful." 

"  Your  gratitude, "  he  said  with  a  smile,  "  ought  to 
make  any  man  happj' !" 

"Your  compliments,"  she  retorted,  "will  certainly 
kill  my  gratitude;  and  now,  Mr.  Goslett,  don't  you 
really  think  that  you  should  try  to  do  some  work?  Is 
it  right  to  lounge  away  the  days  among  the  streets? 
Are  your  pockets,  I  may  ask,  lined  with  gold?" 

"  I  am  looking  for  work.  I  am  hunting  every^vhere 
for  work.  My  uncle  is  going  to  find  me  a  workshop. 
Then  I  shall  request  the  patronage  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry  of  Stepney,  Whitechapel,  and  the  Mile  End 
Road.  H.  G.  respectfully  solicits  a  trial."  He  laughed 
as  if  there  could  be  no  doubt  at  all  about  the  future,  and 
as  if  a  few  5'ears  of  looking  around  were  of  no  impor- 
tance. Theii  he  bowed  to  Angela  in  the  character  of  the 
Complete  Cabinet-maker.  "  Orders,  madame,  orders 
executed  with  neatness  and  despatch.  The  highest 
price  given  for  second-hand  furniture." 

She  had  got  her  house,  however,  though  she  was  go- 
ing to  pay  far  too  much  for  it.  That  was  a  great  thing, 
and,  as  the  more  important  schemes  could  not  be  all  com- 
menced at  a  moment's  notice,  she  would  begin  with  the 
lesser — her  dressmaker's  shop. 

Here  Mr.  Goslett  could  not  help  her.  She  applied, 
therefore,  again  to  Mr.  Bunker,  who  had  a  registry 
office  for  situations  wanted.  "My  terms,"  he  said, 
"  are  five  shillings  on  application  and  five  shillings  for 
each  person  engaged." 


86  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  did  not  say  that  he  took  half  a  crown  from  each 
person  who  wanted  a  place  and  five  shillings  on  her 
getting  the  place.  His  ways  were  ways  of  pleasant- 
ness, and  on  principle  he  never  spoke  of  things  which 
might  cause  unj)leasant  remarks.  Besides,  no  one  knew 
the  trouble  he  had  to  take  in  suiting  people. 

"I  knew,"  he  said,  "that  you  would  come  back  to 
me.  People  will  only  find  out  my  worth  when  I  am 
gone." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  worth  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Bunker," 
said  Angela. 

"Pretty  well,  young  lady.  Pretty  well.  Ah!  my 
nephews  will  be  the  gainers.  But  not  what  I  mig-ht 
have  been  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  meanness,  the — 
the — Hunxincss  of  that  wicked  old  man." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  find  me  what  I  want,  Mr. 
Bunker?" 

"  Can  I?"  He  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  great  book. 
"  Look  at  this  long  list ;  all  ready  to  better  themselves. 
Apprentices  anxious  to  get  through  their  articles,  and 
improvers  to  be  dressmakers,  and  dressmakers  to  be 
forewomen,  and  forewomen  to  be  mistresses.  That  is 
the  way  of  the  world,  young  lady.  Sweet  contentment, 
where  art  thou?"  The  pastoral  simplicity  of  his  words 
and  attitude  were  inexpressibly  comic. 

"  And  how  are  you  going  to  begin.  Miss  Kennedy?" 

"Quietly  at  first." 

"Then  you'll  want  a  matter  of  one  or  two  dress- 
makers, and  half  a  dozen  improvers.  The  apprentices 
will  come  later." 

"  What  are  the  general  wages  in  this  part  of  London?" 

"  The  dressmakers  get  sixteen  shillings  a  week ;  the 
improvers  six.  They  bring  their  own  dinners,  and  you 
give  them  their  tea.  But,  of  course,  you  know  all 
that." 

"  Of  course, "  said  Angela,  making  a  note  of  the  fact, 
notwithstanding. 

"  As  for  one  of  your  dressmakers,  I  can  recommend 
you  Rebekah  Hermitage,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Fercival 
Hermitage.  She  cannot  get  a  situation,  because  of  her 
father's  religious  opinions." 

"  That  seems  strange.     What  are  they?" 

"  Why,  he's  minister  of  the  Seventh-Day  Indepen- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  87 

dents.  They've  got  a  chapel  in  Redman's  Row;  they 
have  their  services  on  Saturday  because,  they  say — and 
it  seems  true — that  the  Fourth  Commandment  has  never 
been  abolished  any  more  than  the  rest  of  them.  I  won- 
der the  bishops  don't  take  it  up.  Well,  there  it  is.  On 
Saturda3"s  she  won't  work,  and  on  Sundays  she  don't 
like  to,  because  the  other  people  don't." 

"Has  she  any  religious  objection,"  asked  Angela, 
"to  working  on  Monday  and  Tuesday?" 

"No;  and  I'll  send  her  over,  Miss  Kenned}*,  this 
evening,  if  you  will  see  her.  You'll  get  her  cheap,  be- 
cause no  one  else  will  have  her.  Very  good.  Then 
there  is  Nelly  Sorensen.  I  know  she  would  like  to  go 
out,  but  her  father  is  particular.  Not  that  he's  any 
right  to  be,  being  a  pauper.  If  a  man  like  me  or  the 
late  Mr.  Messenger,  my  friend,  chooses  to  be  particular, 
it's  nothing  but  right.  As  for  Captain  Sorensen — why, 
it's  the  pride  after  the  fall,  instead  of  before  it.  Which 
makes  it,  to  a  substantial  man,  sickenin'." 

"Who  is  Captain  Sorensen?" 

"He  lives  in  the  asylum  along  the  Whitechapel 
Road,  only  ten  minutes  or  so  from  here.  Nelly  Soren- 
sen is  as  clever  a  work- woman  as  you  will  get.  If  I 
were  you.  Miss  Kennedy,  I  would  go  and  find  her  at 
home.  Then  j^ou  can  see  her  work  and  talk  to  her. 
As  for  her  father,  keep  him  in  his  right  place.  Pride 
in  an  almshouse !  Why,  you'd  hardly  believe  it ;  but  I 
wanted  to  put  his  girl  in  a  shop  where  they  employ  fifty 
hands,  and  he  wouldn't  have  it,  because  he  didn't  like 
the  character  of  the  proprietor.  Said  he  was  a  grinder 
and  an  oppressor.  My  answer  to  such  is,  and  always 
will  be,  "Take  it  or  leave  it.'  If  they  won't  take  it, 
there's  heaps  that  must.  As  old  Mr.  Messenger  used  to 
say,  'Bunker,  my  friend,'  or  'Bunker,  my  only  friend,' 
sometimes,  'Your  remarks  is  true  wisdom.'  Yes,  Miss 
Kennedy,  I  will  go  with  you  to  show  you  the  way.'  " 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Half-past  four.  I  dare  say 
it  will  take  half  an  hour  there  and  back,  which  with  the 
last  quarter  of  an  hour's  talk,  we  shall  charge  as  an 
hour's  time,  which  is  half  a  crown.  Thank  you.  An 
hour,"  he  added,  with  great  feeling;  "an  hour,  like 
a  pint  of  beer,  cannot  be  divided.  And  on  these  easy 
terms,  Miss  Kennedy,  you  will  find  me  always  ready 


88  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

to  work  for  you  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  thinking  of  your 
interests,  even  at  meals,  so  as  not  to  split  an  hour  or 
waste  it,  and  to  save  trouble  in  reckoning  up." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TKE   TRINITY   ALMSHOUSE. 

From  Stepney  Green  to  the  Trinity  Almshouse  is  not 
a  long  way ;  you  have,  in  fact,  little  more  than  to  pass 
through  a  short  street  and  to  cross  the  road.  But  the 
road  itself  is  noteworthy ;  for,  of  all  the  roads  which 
lead  into  London  or  out  of  it,  this  of  Whitechapel  is  the 
broadest  and  the  noblest  by  nature. .  Man,  it  is  true, 
has  done  little  to  embellish  it.  There  are  no  avenues  of 
green  and  spreading  lime  and  plane  trees,  as,  one  day, 
there  shall  be ;  there  ai-e  no  stately  buildings,  towers, 
spires,  miracles  of  architecture— but  only  houses  and 
shops,  which,  whether  small  or  big,  are  all  alike  mean, 
unlovely,  and  depressing.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all,  a  noble 
road. 

This  road,  which  is  the  promenade,  breathing-place, 
place  of  resort,  place  of  gossip,  place  of  amusement,  and 
place  of  business  for  the  greater  part  of  East  London, 
stretches  all  the  way  from  Aldgate  to  Stratford,  teing 
called  first  Whitechapel  Road,  and  then  the  Mile  End 
Road,  and  then  the  Stratford  Road.  Under  the  first 
name  the  road  has  acquired  a  reputation  of  the  class 
called,  by  moralists,  unenviable.  The  history  of  police 
courts  records,  under  the  general  heading  of  White- 
chapel Road,  shows  so  many  free  fights,  brave  robber- 
ies, gallant  murders,  dauntless  kickings,  cudgellings, 
pummellings,  pocket-pickings,  shop-liftings,  watch- 
snatchings,  and  assaults  on  constables,  with  such  a 
brave  display  of  disorderly  drunks,  that  the  road  has 
come  to  be  regarded  with  admiration  as  one  of  those 
Alsatian  retreats,  growing  every  day  rarer,  which  are 
beyond  and  above  the  law.  It  is  thought  to  be  a  place 
where  manhood  and  personal  bravery  reign  supreme. 
Yet  the  road  is  not  worthy  this  reputation ;  it  has  of 
late  years  become  orderlj" ;  its  present  condition  is  dull 
and  law-abiding,  brilliant  as  the  past  has  been,  and  what- 


ALL  SORTS  A:\D  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  89 

ever  greatness  may  be  in  store  for  the  future.  Once 
out  of  Whitechapel,  and  within  the  respectable  regions 
of  Mile  End,  the  road  has  always  been  eminently  re- 
spectable ;  and  as  regards  dangers,  quite  safe,  ever  since 
they  built  the  bridge  over  the  river  Lea,  which  used  now 
and  again  to  have  freshets,  and  at  such  times  tried  to 
drown  harmless  people  in  its  ford.  Since  that  bridge 
Avas  built,  in  the  time  of  Edward  I.,  it  matters  not  for 
the  freshets.  There  is  not  much  in  the  Bow  Road  when 
the  stranger  gets  there,  in  his  journey  along  this  great 
thoroughfare,  for  him  to  visit,  except  its  almshouses, 
which  are  many ;  and  the  beautiful  old  church  of  Bow, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  crumbling  slowly 
away  in  the  East  End  fog,  with  its  narrow  strips  of 
crowded  church-yard.  One  hopes  that  before  it  has  quite 
crumbled  away  some  one  will  go  and  make  a  picture  of 
it — an  etching  would  be  the  best.  At  Stratford  the 
road  divides,  so  that  you  may  turn  to  the  right  and  get 
to  Barking,  or  to  the  left  and  get  to  Epping  Forest. 
And  all  the  way,  for  four  miles,  a  broad  and  noble  road, 
which  must  have  been  carved  originally  out  of  No  Man's 
Land,  in  so  generous  a  spirit  is  it  laid  out.  Angela  is 
now  planting  it  with  trees;  beneath  the  trees  she  will 
set  seats  for  those  who  wish  to  rest.  Here  and  there 
she  will  erect  drinking-fountains.  Whitechapel  Road, 
since  her  improvements  begun,  has  been  transformed ; 
even  the  bacon  shops  are  beginning  to  look  a  little  less 
rusty ;  and  the  grocers  are  trying  to  live  up  to  the  green 
avenues. 

Angela's  imagination  was  fired  by  this  road  from  the 
ver}'-  first,  when  the  idle  apprentice  took  her  into  it  as 
into  a  new  and  strange  country.  Here,  for  the  first 
times  she  realized  the  meaning  of  the  universal  curse, 
from  which  only  herself  and  a  few  others  are  unnatu- 
rally exempted ;  and  this  only  under  heavy  penalties 
and  the  necessity  of  finding  out  their  own  work  for 
themselves,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  them.  People 
think  it  better  to  choose  their  own  work.  That  is  a 
great  mistake.  You  might  just  as  well  want  to  choose 
your  own  disease.  In  the  West  End,  a  good  manj-  folk 
do  work — and  work  prett}'  hard,  some  of  them — who 
need  not,  unless  they  please ;  and  a  good  man}-  others 
work  who  must,  whether  they  please  or  no :  but  some- 


90  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

how  the  forced  labor  is  pushed  into  the  background. 
We  do  not  perceive  its  presence :  people  drive  about  in 
carriages,  as  if  there  were  nothing  to  do ;  people  lounge ; 
people  have  leisure;  people  do  not  look  pressed  or  in 
a  hurry,  or  task-mastered,  or  told  to  make  bricks  with- 
out straw. 

Here,  in  the  East  End,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are 
no  strollers.  All  da}^  long  the  place  is  full  of  passen- 
gers, hasting  to  and  fro,  pushing  each  other  aside,  with 
set  and  anxious  faces,  each  driven  by  the  invisible 
scourge  of  necessity  Avhich  makes  slaves  of  all  mankind. 
Do  you  know  that  famous  picture  of  the  Israelites  in 
Eg.ypt?  Upon  the  great  block  of  stone,  which  the  poor 
wretches  are  painfully  dragging,  while  the  cruel  lash 
goads  the  weak  and  terrifies  the  strong,  there  sits  one 
in  authorit}^.  He  regards  the  herd  of  slaves  with  eyes 
terrible  from  their  stony  gaze.  What  is  it  to  him 
whether  the  feeble  suffer  and  perish,  so  that  the  Pha- 
raoh's will  be  done?  The  people  of  the  East  reminded 
Angela,  who  was  an  on-looker,  and  had  no  work  to  do, 
of  these  builders  of  p3'ramids:  they  worked  under  a 
taskmaster  as  relentless  as  that  stony-hearted  captain 
or  foreman  of  works.  If  the  Israelites  desisted,  they 
were  flogged  back  to  work  with  cats  of  many  tails ;  if 
our  workmen  desist,  they  are  flogged  back  by  starva- 
tion. 

"Let  us  hope,  "said  Harry,  to  whom  Angela  imparted 
a  portion  of  the  above  reflection  and  comparison — "  let 
us  hope  the  Pharaoh  Iiimself  means  well  and  is  pitiful." 
He  spoke  without  his  usual  flippancy,  so  that  perhaj^s 
his  remark  had  some  meaning  for  himself. 

All  day  long  and  all  the  year  round  there  is  a  constant 
fair  going  on  in  Whitechapel  Road.  It  is  held  upon 
the  broad  pavement,  which  was  benevolently  intended, 
no  doubt,  for  this  purpose.  Here  are  displayed  all 
kinds  of  things :  bits  of  second-hand  furniture,  such  as 
the  head  of  a  wooden  bed,  whose  griminess  is  perhaps 
exaggerated,  in  order  that  a  purchaser  maj'  expect  some- 
thing extraordinarilj^  cheap.  Here  are  lids  of  pots  and 
saucepans  laid  out,  to  show  that  in  the  warehouse,  of 
which  these  things  are  specimens,  will  be  found  the 
principal  parts  of  the  utensils  for  sale;  here  are  unex- 
pected things,    such  as  rows  of  skates,  sold  cheap  in 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  91 

summer;  light  clothing  in  winter;  workmen's  tools  of 
every  kind,  including,  perhaps,  the  burglarious  jimmy ; 
second-hand  books — a  miscellaneous  collection,  estab- 
lishing the  fact  that  the  readers  of  books  in  Whitechapel 
— a  feeble  and  scanty  folk — read  nothing  at  all  except 
sermons  and  meditations  among  the  tombs;  second- 
hand boots  and  shoes ;  cutlerj-  ;  hats  and  caps ;  rat-traps 
and  mouse-traps  and  bird-cages;  flowers  and  seeds; 
skittles;  and  frames  for  photographs.  Cheap-jacks 
have  their  carts  beside  the  pavement,  and  with  strident 
voice  proclaim  the  goodness  of  their  wares,  which  in- 
clude in  this  district  bloaters  and  dried  haddocks,  as 
well  as  crockery.  And  one  is  amazed,  seeing  how 
the  open-air  fair  goes  on,  why  the  shops  are  kept  open 
at  all. 

And  alwa^'S  the  same.  It  saddens  one,  I  know  not 
why,  to  sit  beside  a  river  and  see  the  water  flowing 
down  with  never  a  pause.  It  saddens  one  still  more  to 
watch  the  current  of  human  life  in  this  great  thorough- 
fare and  feel  that,  as  it  is  now,  so  it  was  a  generation 
ago,  and  so  it  will  be  a  generation  hence.  The  bees  in 
the  hive  die,  and  are  replaced  by  others  exactly  like 
them,  and  the  honey-making  goes  on  merrily  still.  So, 
in  a  great  street,  the  wagons  always  go  up  and  down ; 
the  passengers  never  cease ;  the  shopboy  is  always  be- 
hind the  counter;  the  work-girl  is  always  sewing;  the 
workman  is  always  carrying  his  tools  as  he  goes  to  his 
work ;  there  are  always  those  who  stay  for  half  a  pint, 
and  alwaj's  those  who  hurry  on.  In  this  endless  drama, 
which  repeats  itself  like  a  musical  box,  the  jeune  p re- 
in ier  of  to-day  becomes  to-morrow  the  lean  and  slip- 
pered pantaloon.  The  da}"  after  to-morrow  he  will 
have  disappeared,  gone  to  join  the  silent  ones  in  the 
grim,  unlovely  cemeter}'  belonging  to  the  Tower  Ham- 
lets, which  lies  beyond  Stepney,  and  is  the  reason  why 
on  Sundays  the  "  frequent  funeral  blackens  all  the  road. 

'■  One  can  moralize, "  said  Harry  one  da3%  after  they 
had  been  exchanging  sentiments  of  enjoyable  sadness, 
"at  this  rate  forever.     But  it  has  all  been  done  before." 

"Everything,  I  suppose,"  replied  Angela,  "has  been 
done  before.  If  it  has  not  been  done  by  me,  it  is  new 
— to  me.  It  does  not  make  it  any  better  for  a  man  whe 
has  to  work  all  the  days  of  his  life,  and  gets  no  enjoy- 


93  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

ment  out  of  it,  and  lives  ignobly  and  dies  obscurely,  that 
the  same  thing  happens  to  most  people." 

"We  cannot  help  ourselves."  This  time  it  was  the 
cabinet-maker  who  spoke  to  the  dressmaker.  "  We  be- 
long to  the  crowd,  and  we  must  live  with  the  crowd. 
You  can't  make  much  glory  out  of  a  mercenary  lathe  nor 
out  of  a  dressmaker's  shop,  can  you.  Miss  Kennedy?" 

It  was  by  such  reminders,  one  to  the  other,  that  con- 
versations of  the  most  delightful  kind,  full  of  specula- 
tions and  comparisons,  were  generall}'  brought  up  short. 
When  Angela  remembered  that  she  was  talking  to  an 
artisan,  she  froze.  When  Harry  reflected  that  it  was 
a  dressmaker  to  whom  he  was  communicating  bits  of 
his  inner  soul,  he  checked  himself.  When,  which  hap- 
pened every  day,  they  forgot  their  disguises  for  a  while, 
they  talked  quite  freel}^  and  very  prettily  communicated 
all  sorts  of  thoughts,  fancies,  and  opinions  to  each  other; 
insomuch  that  once  or  twice  a  disagreeable  feeling 
would  cross  the  girl's  mind  that  the}'  were  perhaps  get- 
ting too  near  the  line  at  which  "  keeping  company"  be- 
gins ;  but  he  was  a  young  workman  of  good  taste,  and 
he  never  presumed. 

She  was  walking  beside  her  guide,  Mr.  Bunker,  and 
pondering  over  these  things  as  she  gazed  down  the  broad 
road,  and  recollected  the  talk  she  had  held  in  it ;  and 
now  her  heart  was  warm  within  her,  because  of  the 
things  she  thought  and  had  tried  to  say. 

"Here  we  are,  miss,"  said  Mr.  Bunker,  stopping. 
"Here's  the  Trinity  Almshouse." 

She  awoke  from  her  dream.  It  is  very  odd  to  con- 
sider the  strange  thoughts  which  flash  upon  one  in 
walking.  Angela  suddenly  discovered  that  Mr.  Bunker 
possessed  a  remarkable  resemblance  to  a  bear.  His 
walk  was  something  like  one,  with  a  swing  of  the 
shoulders,  and  his  hands  were  big  and  his  expression 
was  hungry.     Yes,  he  was  exactly'  like  a  bear. 

She  observed  that  she  was  standing  at  a  v/icket-gate, 
and  that  over  the  gate  was  the  efRgj'  of  a  ship  in  full  sail 
done  in  stone.  Mr.  Bunker  opened  the  door,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  court  within. 

Then  a  great  stillness  fell  upon  the  girl's  spirit. 

Outside  the  wagons,  carts,  and  omnibuses  thundered 
and  rolled.     You  could  hear  them  plainly  enough ;  j'ou 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  93 

could  hear  the  tramp  of  a  thousand  feet.  But  the  noise 
outside  was  only  a  contrast  to  the  quiet  within.  A  wall 
of  brick  with  iron  railings  separated  the  tumult  from 
the  calm.  It  seemed  as  if,  within  that  court,  there  was 
no  noise  at  all,  so  sharp  and  sudden  was  the  contrast. 

She  stood  in  an  oblong  court,  separated  from  the  road 
by  the  wall  above  named.  On  either  hand  was  a  row 
of  small  houses  containing,  apparentlj^,  four  rooms  each. 
They  were  built  of  red  brick,  and  were  bright  and  clean. 
Every  house  had  an  iron  tank  in  front  for  water;  there 
was  a  pavement  of  flags  along  this  row,  and  a  grass 
laAvn  occupied  the  middle  of  the  court.  Upon  the  grass 
stood  the  statue  of  a  benefactor,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
court  was  a  chapel.  It  was  a  very  little  chapel,  but 
was  approached  by  a  most  enormous  and  disproportion- 
ate flight  of  stone  steps,  which  might  have  been  orig- 
inally cut  for  a  portal  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  The 
steps  were  surmounted  by  a  great  doorway,  which  oc- 
cupied the  whole  west  front  of  the  chapel.  No  one  was 
moving  about  the  place  except  an  old  lady,  who  was 
drawing  water  from  her  tank. 

"  Pretty  place,  ain'o  it?"  asked  Mr.  Bunker. 

"  It  seems  peaceful  and  quiet,"  said  the  girl. 

"Place  where  you'd  expect  pride,  ain't  it?"  he  went 
on  scornfully.  "  Oh  yes !  Paupers  and  pride  go  to- 
gether, as  is  well  known.  Lowliness  is  for  them  who've 
got  a  bank  and  money  in  it.  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  Gar ! 
The  pride  of  an  inmate !" 

He  led  the  way,  making  a  most  impertinent  echo  with 
the  heels  of  his  boots.  Angela  observed,  immediately, 
that  there  was  another  court  beyond  the  first.  In  fact, 
it  was  larger :  the  houses  were  of  stone,  and  of  greater 
size;  and  it  was  if  anything  more  solemnly  quiet.  It 
was  possessed  of  silence. 

Here  there  is  another  statue  erected  to  the  memory  of 
the  founder,  who,  it  is  stated  on  the  pedestal,  died,  be- 
ing then  "  Comander  of  a  Shipp  "  in  the  East  Indies,  in 
the  year  168G.  The  gallant  captain  is  represented  in 
the  costume  of  the  period.  He  wears  a  coat  of  many 
buttons,  large  cuffs,  and  full  skirts;  the  coat  is  but- 
toned a  good  way  below  the  waist,  showing  the  fair 
doublet  within,  also  provided  with  many  buttons.  He 
wears  shoes  v.ith  buckles,  has  a  soft  silk  wrapper  round 


94  ALL  SOfiTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

his  neck,  and  a  sash  to  carry  his  sword.  On  his  head 
there  is  an  enormous  wig,  well  adapted  to  serve  the 
purpose  for  which  solar  toupees  were  afterward  invented. 
In  his  right  hand  he  carries  a  sextant,  many  sizes  big- 
ger than  those  in  modern  use,  and  at  his  feet  dolphins 
sport.  A  grass  lawn  covers  this  court,  as  well  as  the 
other,  and  no  voice  or  sound  ever  comes  from  any  of  the 
houses,  whose  occupants  might  well  be  all  dead. 

Mr.  Bunker  turned  to  the  right,  and  presently  rapped 
with  his  knuckles  at  a  door.  Then,  without  waiting 
for  a  reply,  he  turned  the  handle,  and  with  a  nod  in- 
vited his  companion  to  follow  him. 

It  was  a  small  but  well-proportioned  room  with  low 
ceiling,  furnished  sufficiently.  There  were  clean  white 
curtains  with  rose-colored  ribbons.  The  window  was 
open,  and  in  it  stood  a  i)ot  of  mignonette,  now  at  its 
best.  At  the  window  sat,  on  one  side,  an  old  gentle- 
man with  silvery  white  hair  and  spectacles,  who  was 
reading,  and  on  the  other  side  a  girl  with  work  on  ber 
lap,  sewing. 

"Now,  Cap'n  Sorensen,"  said  Mr.  Bunker,  without 
the  formality  of  greetijig,  "  I've  got  you  another  chance. 
Take  it  or  leave  it,  since  j'ou  can  afford  to  be  particular. 
I  can't;  I'm  not  rich  enough.  Ha!"  He  snorted  and 
looked  about  him  with  the  contempt  which  a  man  who 
has  a  banker  naturally  feels  for  one  who  hasn't,  and 
lives  in  an  almshouse. 

"What  is  the  chance?"  asked  the  inmate  meekly, 
looking  up.  When  he  saw  Angela  in  the  doorway  he 
rose  and  bowed,  offering  her  a  chair.  Angela  observed 
that  he  was  a  very  tall  old  man,  and  that  he  had  blue 
eyes  and  a  rosy  face — quite  a  j^oung  face  it  looked — and 
was  gentle  of  speech  and  courteous  in  demeanor. 

"  Is  the  chance  connected  with  this  young  lady,  Mr. 
Bunker?" 

" It  is,"  said  the  great  man.  "  Miss  Kennedy,  this  is 
the  young  woman  I  told  you  of.  This  young  lady" — he 
indicated  Angela — "  is  setting  herself  up,  in  a  genteel 
waj^  in  the  dressmaking  line.  She's  taken  one  of  my 
houses  on  the  Green,  and  she  wants  hands  to  begin 
with.  She  comes  here,  Cap'n  Sorensen,  on  my  recom- 
mendation." 

"We  are  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Bunker." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  95 

The  girl  was  standing,  her  work  in  her  hands,  look- 
ing at  Angela,  and  a  little  terrified  by  the  sight  of  so 
grand  a  person.  The  dressmakers  of  her  experience 
were  not  young  and  beautiful ;  mostly  they  were  pinched 
with  years,  troubles,  and  anxieties.  When  Angela  be- 
gan to  notice  her,  she  saw  that  the  young  work-girl, 
who  seemed  about  nineteen  years  of  age,  was  tall,  rather 
too  thin,  and  pretty.  She  did  not  look  strong,  but  her 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  a  delicate  bloom;  her  eyes, 
like  her  father's,  were  blue;  her  hair  was  light  and 
feathery,  though  she  brushed  it  as  straight  as  it  would 
go.  She  was  dressed,  like  most  girls  of  her  class,  in  a 
frock  of  sober  black. 

Angela  took  her  by  the  hand.  "  I  am  sure,"  she  said 
kindlj^,  "that  we  shall  be  friends." 

"Friends!"  cried  Mr.  Bunker,  aghast.  "Why,  she's 
to  be  one  of  your  girls!  You  can't  be  friends  with 
your  own  girls." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  girl,  blushing  and  abashed,  "you 
would  like  to  see  some  of  my  work."  She  spread  out 
her  work  on  the  table. 

"Fine  weather  here,  cap'n,"  Mr.  Bunker  went  on, 
striking  an  attitude  of  patronage,  as  if  the  sun  was 
good  indeed  to  shine  on  an  almshouse.  "  Fine  weather 
should  make  grateful  hearts,  especially  in  them  as  is  pro- 
vided for — having  been  improvident  in  their  youth— 
with  comfortable  roofs  to  shelter  them." 

"Grateful  hearts,  indeed,  Mr.  Bunker,"  said  the  cap- 
tain quietly. 

"  Mr.  Bunker" — Angela  turned  upon  him  with  an  air 
of  command,  and  pointed  to  the  door — "  you  may  go 
now.     You  have  done  all  I  wanted." 

Mr.  Bunker  turned  very  red.  "  He  could  go !"  Was 
he  to  be  ordered  about  by  every  little  dressmaker?  "  He 
could  go !" 

"  If  the  lady  engages  my  daughter,  Mr.  Bunker,"  said 
Captain  Sorensen,  "  I  will  try  to  find  the  five  shillings 
next  week." 

_ "  Five  shillings !"  cried  Angela.     "  Why,  I  have  just 
given  him  five  shillings  for  his  recommendation." 

Mr.  Bunker  did  not  explain  that  his  practice  was  to 
get  five  shillings  from  both  sides,  but  he  retreated  with 
as  much  dignity  as  could  be  expected. 


96  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  asked,  outside,  with  shame,  how  it  was  that  he 
allowed  himself  thus  to  be  sat  upon  and  ordered  out  of 
the  house  by  a  mere  girl.  Why  had  he  not  stood  upon 
his  dignity?  To  be  told  he  might  go,  and  before  an 
inmate — a  common  pauper ! 

There  is  one  consolation  always  open,  thank  Heaven, 
for  the  meanest  among  us  poor  worms  of  earth.  We 
are  gifted  with  imaginations ;  we  can  make  the  impos- 
sible an  actual  fact,  and  can  with  the  eye  of  the  mind 
make  the  unreal  stand  before  us  in  the  flesh.  There- 
fore, when  we  are  down-trodden,  we  may  proceed, 
without  the  trouble  and  danger  of  turning  (which  has 
been  known  to  bring  total  extinction  upon  a  worm) ,  to 
take  revenge  upon  our  enemy  in  imagination.  Mr. 
Bunker,  who  was  at  this  moment  uncertain  whether  he 
hated  Miss  Kennedy  more  than  he  hated  his  nephew, 
went  home  glowing  with  the  thought  that  but  a  few 
short  months  would  elapse  before  he  should  be  able  to 
set  his  foot  upon  the  former  and  crush  her.  Because, 
at  the  rate  she  was  going  on,  she  would  not  last  more 
than  that  time.  Then  would  he  send  in  his  bills,  sue 
her,  sell  her  up,  and  drive  her  out  of  the  place  stripped 
of  the  last  farthing.  "  He  might  go !"  He,  Bunker, 
Was  told  that  he  might  go !  And  in  the  presence  of  an 
inmate.  Then  he  thought  of  his  nephew,  and  while  he 
smote  the  pavement  with  the  iron  end  of  his  umbrella, 
a  cold  dew  appeared  upon  his  nose,  the  place  where  in- 
ward agitation  is  frequently  betraj^ed  in  this  way,  and 
he  shivered,  looking  about  him  suddenly  as  if  he  was 
frightened.  Yet  what  harm  was  Harry  Goslett  likely 
to  do  him? 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  dear?"  asked  Angela  softl}^, 
and  without  any  inspection  of  the  work  on  the  table. 
She  was  wondering  how  this  pretty,  fragile  flower 
should  be  found  in  Whitechapel.  O  ignorance  of 
Newnham !  For  she  might  have  reflected  that  the  rar- 
est and  most  beautiful  plants  are  found  in  the  most  sav- 
age places — there  is  beautiful  botanizing,  one  is  told,  in 
the  Ural  Mountains;  and  that  the  sun  shines  every- 
where, even,  as  Mr.  Bunker  remarked,  in  an  almshouse; 
and  that  she  herself  had  gathered  in  the  ugliest  ditches 
round  Cambridge  the  sweetest  flowering  mosses,  the 
tenderest  campion,  the  lowliest  little  herb-robert. 


I  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  97 

"M3'  name  is  Ellen,"  replied  the  girl. 

"I  call  her  Nell}',"  her  father  answered,  "and  she  is 
a  good  girl.     Will  you  sit  down.  Miss  Kenned}'?" 

Angela  sat  down  and  proceeded  to  business.  She 
said,  addressing  the  old  man,  but  looking  at  the  child, 
that  she  was  setting  up  a  dressmaker's  shop;  that  she 
had  hopes  of  support,  even  from  the  West  End,  where 
she  had  friends ;  that  she  was  prepared  to  pay  the  proper 
wages,  with  certain  other  advantages,  of  which  more 
would  be  said  later  on;  and  that,  if  Captain  Sorensen 
approved,  she  would  engage  his  daughter  from  that  day. 

"  I  have  only  been  out  as  an  improver  as  ,yet, "  said 
Nelly.  "  But  if  you  will  really  try  me  as  a  dressmaker 
— O  father,  it  is  sixteen  shillings  a  week !" 

Angela's  heart  smote  her.  A  poor  sixteen  shillings 
a  week!  And  this  girl  was  delighted  at  the  chance  of 
getting  so  much. 

"  What  do  3'ousay,  Captain  Sorensen?  Do  you  want 
references,  as  Mr.  Bunker  did?  I  am  the  grand- 
daughter of  a  man  who  was  born  here  and  made — a  lit- 
tle— money  here,  which  he  left  to  me.  Will  you  let  her 
come  to  me?" 

"You  are  the  first  person,"  said  Captain  Sorensen, 
"  who  ever,  in  this  place,  where  work  is  not  so  plentiful 
as  hands,  offered  work  as  if  taking  it  was  a  favor  to 
you." 

"I  want  good  girls — and  nice  girls,"  said  Angela. 
"  I  want  a  house  where  we  shall  all  be  friends. " 

The  old  sailor  shook  his  head. 

"There  is  no  such  house  here,"  he  said  sadly.  "It 
is  'take  it  or  leave  it' — if  you  won't  take  it,  others  will. 
Make  the  poor  girls  your  friends.  Miss  Kennedy?  You 
look  and  talk  like  a  lady  born  and  bred,  and  I  fear  3'ou 
will  be  put  upon.  Make  friends  of  your  servants? 
Wli}',  Mr.  Bunker  will  tell  you  that  Whitechapel  does 
not  carry  on  business  that  way.  But  it  is  good  of  you 
to  tr}',  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  scold  and  drive  like 
the  rest." 

"  You  offended  jMr.  Bunker,  I  learn,  by  refusing  a 
place  which  he  offered,"  said  Angela. 

"  Yes :  God  knows  if  I  did  right.     We  are  desper- 
ately poor,  else  we  should  not  be  here.     That  you  may 
see  for  yourself.     Yet  my  blood  boiled  when  I  heard 
7 


98  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

the  character  of  the  man  whom  mj^  Nelly  was  to  serve. 
I  could  not  let  her  go.  She  is  all  I  have,  Miss  Ken- 
nedy"— the  old  man  drew  the  girl  toward  him  and  held 
her,  his  arm  round  her  waist.  ''  If  3'ou  will  take  her  and 
treat  her  kindly,  you  will  have — it  isn't  worth  any- 
thing, perhaps — the  gratitude  of  one  old  man  in  this 
world — soon  in  the  next." 

"  Trust  your  daughter  with  me.  Captain  Sorensen," 
Angela  replied,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Everybody  round  here  is  poor,"  he  went  on,  "  Tliat 
makes  people  hard-hearted ;  there  are  too  many  people 
in  trade,  and  that  makes  them  mean ;  they  are  all  try- 
ing to  undersell  each  other,  and  that  makes  them  full 
of  tricks  and  cheating.  They  treat  the  work-girls  worst 
because  they  cannot  stand  up  for  themselves.  The  long 
hours,  and  the  bad  food,  and  the  poisonous  air — think 
a  little  of  your  girls,  Miss  Kennedy.  But  you  will — 
you  will." 

"I  will,  Captain  Sorensen," 

"  It  seems  worse  to  us  old  sailors,"  he  went  on.  "  We 
have  had  a  hardish  life,  but  it  has  been  in  open  air. 
Old  sailors  haven't  had  to  cheat  and  lie  for  a  living. 
And  we  haven't  been  brought  up  to  think  of  girls  turn- 
ing night  into  day,  and  working  sixteen  hours  on  end 
at  twopence  an  hour.     It  is  hard  to  think  of  my  poor 

girl "    He  stopped  and  clinched  his  fist.     "  Better  to 

starve  than  to  drive  such  a  mill !"  He  was  thinking  of 
the  place  Avhich  he  had  refused. 

"  Let  us  try  each  other,  Nelly,"  she  said,  kissing  her 
on  the  forehead. 

The  captain  took  his  hat  to  escort  her  as  far  as  the 
gate. 

"A  quiet  place,"  he  said,  looking  round  the  little 
court,  "  and  a  happy  place  for  the  last  days  of  improvi- 
dent old  men  like  me.  Yet  some  of  us  grumble.  For- 
give my  plain  speech  about  the  work." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  indeed.  Captain  Soren- 
sen.    Will  you  let  me  call  upon  you  sometimes?" 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  He  bowed  over  it  with  the 
courtesy  of  a  captain  on  his  own  quarter-deck.  When 
she  turned  away  she  saw  that  a  tear  was  standing  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Father !"  cried  Nelly,  rushing  into  his  arms,  "  did 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  99 

you  ever  see  an 3'body  like  her?     Oh!  oh!  do  you  think 
I  really  shall  do  for  her?" 

"  You  will  do  your  best,  m}'  dear.  It  is  a  long  time, 
I  think,  since  I  have  seen  and  spoken  with  any  one  like 
that.  In  the  old  days  I  have  had  passengers  to  Calcutta 
like  her ;  but  none  more  so,  iSTelly — no,  never  one  more 
so." 

"You  couldn't,  father."  His  daughter  wanted  no 
explanation  of  this  mysterious  qualification.  "You 
couldn't.  She  is  a  lady,  father;"  she  looked  up  and 
laughed. 

"  It's  a  funny  thing  for  a  real  lady  to  open  a  dress- 
maker's shop  on  Stepney  Green,  isn't  it?"' 

Remark,  if  you  please,  that  this  girl  had  never  once 
before,  in  all  her  life,  conversed  with  a  lad}^ ;  using  the 
word  in  the  prejudiced  and  narrow  sense  peculiar  to  the 
West  End.  Yet  she  discovered  instantly  the  truth. 
Whence  this  instinct?  It  is  a  world  full  of  strange  and 
wonderful  things ;  the  more  questions  we  ask,  the  more 
we  may;  and  the  more  things  we  consider,  the  more 
incomprehensible  does  the  sum  of  things  appear.  In- 
quiring reader,  I  do  not  know  how  Nelly  divined  that 
her  visitor  was  a  lady. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHAT   HE   GOT   BY  IT. 

A  dressmaker's  shop,  without  a  dressmaker  to  man- 
age it,  would  be,  Angela  considered,  in  some  perplex- 
ity, like  a  ship  without  a  steersman.  She  therefore 
waited  with  some  impatience  the  promised  visit  of  Re- 
bekah  Hermitage,  whom  she  was  to  "  get  cheap, "  ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Bunker,  on  account  of  her  Sabbatarian 
views. 

She  came  in  the  evening,  while  Angela  was  walking 
on  the  Green  with  the  sprightly  cabinet-maker.  It  was 
sunset,  and  Angela  had  been  remarking  to  her  compan- 
ion, with  a  sort  of  irrational  surprise,  that  the  phenom- 
ena coincident  with  the  close  of  the  day  are  just  as  bril- 
liantly colored  and  lavishly  displayed  for  the  squalid 
East  as  for  the  luxurious  West.  Perhaps,  indeed,  there 
are  not  many  places  in  London  where  sunset  does  pro* 


100  ALL  SORTS  AND  COyDITlVyS  OF  MEN. 

diice  such  good  effects  as  at  Stepney  Green.  The  na,r- 
row  strip,  so  called,  in  shape  resembles  too  nearly  a 
closed  umbrella  or  a  thickish  walking-stick ;  but  there 
are  trees  in  it,  and  beds  of  tiowers,  and  seats  for  those 
who  wish  to  sit,  and  walks  for  those  who  wish  to  walk. 
And  the  better  houses  of  the  Green — Bormalack's  was 
on  the  west,  or  ding}-  side — are  on  the  east,  and  face  the 
setting  sun.  They  are  of  a  good  age,  at  least  a  hundred 
and  lift}'  years  old ;  they  are  built  of  a  warm  red  brick, 
and  some  have  doors  ornamented  with  the  old-fashioned 
shell,  and  all  have  an  appearance  of  solid  resj^ectability, 
which  makes  the  rest  of  Stepney  proud  of  them.  Here, 
in  former  days,  dwelt  the  aristocracy  of  the  parish ;  and 
on  this  side  was  the  house  taken  by  Angela  for  her 
dressmaking  institution,  the  house  in  which  her  grand- 
father was  born.  The  reason  why  the  sunsets  are  more 
splendid  and  the  sunrises  brighter  at  Stepney  than  at 
the  opposite  end  of  London,  is,  that  the  sun  sets  behind 
the  great  bank  of  cloud  which  forever  lies  over  London 
town.  This  lends  his  departure  to  the  happy  dwellers 
of  the  East  strange  and  wonderful  effects.  Now,  when 
he  rises,  it  is  naturally  in  the  East,  where  there  is  no 
cloud  of  smoke  to  hide  the  brightness  of  his  face. 

The  Green  this  evening  was  crowded :  it  is  not  so 
fashionable  a  promenade  as  Whitechapel  Road,  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  possesses  the  charm  of  comparative 
quiet.  There  is  no  noise  of  vehicles,  but  only  the 
shouting  of  children,  the  loud  laughter  of  some  gaillard 
'prentice,  the  coy  giggle  of  the  young  lady  to  whom  he 
has  imparted  his  last  merry  jape,  the  loud  whispers  of 
ladies  who  are  exchanging  confidences  about  their  com- 
plaints and  the  complaints  of  their  friends,  and  the 
musical  laugh  of  girls.  The  old  people  had  all  crept 
home ;  the  mothers  were  at  home  putting  their  children 
to  bed ;  the  fathers  were  mostly  engaged  with  the  even- 
ing pipe,  which  demands  a  chair  within  four  walls  and 
a  glass  of  something ;  the  Green  was  given  up  to  youth ; 
and  youth  was  principall}^  given  up  to  love-making. 

"In  Arcadia,"  said  Harry,  "every  nymph  is  wooed, 
and  every  swain " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  his  uncle,  who 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  with  his  usual  im- 
portant bustle,  followed  by  a  "young  person." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  101 

"I  looked  for  you  at  Mrs.  Bormalack's,"  he  said  to 
Angela  reproachfully,  "and  here  you  are — with  this 
young  man,  as  usual.  As  if  my  time  was  no  object  to 
you!" 

"  Why  not  with  this  young  man,  Mr.  Bunker?"  asked 
Angela. 

He  did  not  explain  his  reasons  for  objecting  to  her 
companion,  but  proceeded  to  introduce  his  companion. 

"  Here  she  is,  Miss  Kennedy,"  he  said.  "  This  is  Re- 
bekah  Hermitage;  I've  brought  her  with  me  to  prevent 
mistakes.  You  may  take  her  on  my  recommendation. 
Nobody  in  the  neighborhood  of  Stepney  wants  a  better 
recommendation  than  mine.  One  of  Bunker's,  they 
say,  and  they  ask  no  more." 

"  What  a  beautiful,  what  an  enviable  reputation !" 
murmured  his  nephew,  "  Oh,  that  I  were  one  of 
Bunker's !" 

Mr.  Bunker  glared  at  him,  but  answered  not ;  never, 
within  his  present  experience,  had  he  found  himself  at  a 
loss  to  give  indignation  words.  On  occasion,  he  had 
been  known  to  swear  "  into  shudders"  the  immortal 
gods  who  heard  him.  To  swear  at  this  nephew,  how- 
ever, this  careless,  sniggering  youth,  who  looked  and 
talked  like  a  "swell,"  would,  he  felt,  be  more  than  use- 
less. The  boy  w^ould  only  snigger  more.  He  would 
have  liked  knocking  him  down,  but  there  were  obvious 
reasons  why  this  was  not  to  be  seriously  contemplated. 

He  turned  to  the  girl  who  had  come  with  him. 

"Rebekah,"  he  said  with  condescension,  "you  may 
speak  up ;  I  told  your  father  I  would  stand  by  you,  and 
I  win." 

"  Do  not,  at  least,"  said  Angela,  in  her  stateliest  man- 
ner, "begin  by  making  Miss  Hermitage  suppose  she 
will  want  your  support." 

She  saw  before  her  a  girl  about  two-  or  three-and- 
twenty  years  of  age.  She  was  short  of  stature  and 
sturdy.  Her  complexion  \wis  dark,  with  black  hair  and 
dark  eyes,  and  these  were  bright.  A  firm  mouth  and 
square  chin  gave  her  a  pugnacious  appearance.  In  fact, 
she  had  been  fighting  all  her  life,  more  desperately  even 
than  the  other  girls  about  her,  because  she  was  heavily 
handicapped  b}'  the  awkwardness  of  her  religion. 

"Mr.  Bunker,"  said  this  young  person,  who  certainly 


10:J  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

did  not  look  as  if  she  wanted  any  backing  up,  "  tells  me 
yon  want  a  forewoman," 

"  You  want  a  forewoman, "  echoed  the  agent,  as  if  in- 
terpreting for  her. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  Angela  replied.  "I  know,  to  begin 
with,  all  about  your  religious  opinions." 

"She  knows,"  said  the  agent,  standing  between  the 
two  parties,  as  if  retained  for  the  interests  of  both — 
"she  knows,  already,  your  religious  opinions." 

"  Very  well,  miss. "  Rebekah  looked  disappointed  at 
losing  a  chance  of  expounding  them.  "  Then,  I  can 
only  say,  I  can  never  give  way  in  the  matter  of  truth." 

"In  truth,"  said  the  agent,  "she's  as  obstinate  as  a 
pig." 

"  I  do  not  expect  it,"  replied  Angela,  feeling  that  the 
half-a-crown-an-hour  man  was  really  a  stupendous  nui- 
sance. 

"She  does  not  expect  it," echoed  Mr.  Bunker,  turning 
to  Rebekah.  "What  did  I  tell  j^ou?  Now  you  see  the 
effect  of  my  recommendations." 

"Take  it  off  the  wages,"  said  Rebekah,  with  an  ob- 
vious effort,  which  showed  how  vital  was  the  impor- 
tance of  the  pay.  "  Take  it  off  the  wages,  if  you  like ; 
and,  of  course,  I  can't  expect  to  labor  for  five  days  and 
be  paid  for  six ;  but  on  the  Saturday,  which  is  the  Sab- 
bath-day, I  do  no  work  therein,  neither  I,  nor  my  man- 
servant, nor  my  maid-servant,  nor  my  ox,  nor  my  ass." 

"  Neither  her  man-servant,  nor  her  maid-servant,  nor 
her  ox,  nor  her  ass,"  repeated  the  agent  solemnly. 

"There  is  the  Sunday,  however,"  said  Angela. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  about  Sunday  now?" 
asked  Mr.  Bunker,  with  a  change  of  front. 

"Of  all  the  days  that's  in  the  week,"  interpolated  the 
sprightl}-  one,  "  I  dearly  love  but  one  day — and  that's 
the  day " 

Rebekah,  impatient  of  this  frivolity,  stopped  it  at 
once.  • 

"I  do  as  little  as  I  can,"  she  said,  "on  Sunday,  be- 
cause of  the  weaker  brethren.  The  Sunday  we  keep  as 
a  holiday." 

"  Well "     Angela  began  rather  to  envy  this  j^oung 

woman,  who  was  a  clear  gainer  of  a  whole  day  by  her 
religion ;  "  well.  Miss  Hermitage,  will  you  come  to  me 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  103 

on  trial?  Thank  you;  we  can  settle  about  deductions 
afterward,  if  3'ou  please.  And  if  you  will  come  to- 
morrow— that  is  right.  Now,  if  j-ou  please  to  take  a 
turn  with  me,  we  will  talk  things  over  together ;  good- 
night, Mr.  Bunker." 

She  took  the  girl's  arm  and  led  her  away,  being  anx- 
ious to  get  Bunker  out  of  sight.  The  aspect  of  this 
agent  anno3^ed  and  irritated  her  almost  beyond  endur- 
ance ;  so  she  left  him  with  his  nephew. 

"  One  of  Bunker's !"  Harrj^  repeated  softly. 

"You  here!"  growled  the  uncle,  "dangling  after  a 
girl  when  you  ought  to  be  at  work !  How  long,  I  should 
like  to  know,  are  we  hard-working  Stepney  folk  to  be 
troubled  with  an  idle,  good-for-nothing  vagabond  ?  Eh, 
sir?  How  long?  And  don't  suppose  that  I  mean  to  do 
anything  for  you  when  your  money  is  all  gone.  Do 
you  hear,  sir?  do  you  hear?" 

"I  hear,  my  uncle!"  As  usual,  the  young  man 
laughed ;  he  sat  upon  the  arm  of  a  garden-seat,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  laughed  an  insolent,  ex- 
asperating laugh.  Now,  Mr.  Bunker  in  all  his  life  had 
never  seen  the  least  necessity  or  occasion  for  laughing 
at  auj'thing  at  all,  far  less  at  himself.  Nor,  hitherto, 
had  any  one  dared  to  laugh  at  him. 

"  Sniggerin'  peacock !"  added  Mr.  Bunker  fiercely, 
rattling  a  bunch  of  keys  in  his  pocket. 

Harry  laughed  again,  with  .more  abandon.  This 
uncle  of  his,  who  regarded  him  with  so  much  dislike, 
seemed  a  very  humorous  person. 

"Connection  by  marriage,"  he  said.  "There  is  one 
question  I  have  very  much  wished  to  put  to  j'ou. 
When  you  traded  me  away,  now  three-and-twenty  j^ears 
ago,  or  thereabouts — you  remember  the  circumstances, 
I  dare  say,  better  than  I  can  be  expected  to  do — trhat 
did  you  get  for  me?" 

Then  Bunker's  color  changed,  his  cheeks  became 
quite  white.  Harry  thought  it  was  the  efifect  of  wrath, 
and  went  on. 

"  Half  a  crown  an  hour,  of  course,  during  the  nego- 
tiations, which  I  dare  say  took  a  week — that  we  under- 
stand; but  what  else?  Come,  my  uncle,  what  else  did 
you  get?" 

It  was  too  dark  for  the  3'oung  man  to  perceive  the 


104  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

full  effect  of  this  question — the  sudden  change  of  color 
escaped  his  notice ;  but  he  observed  a  strange  and  angry 
light  in  his  uncle's  eyes,  and  he  saw  that  he  opened  his 
mouth  once  or  twice  as  if  to  speak,  but  shut  his  lips 
again  without  saying  a  word ;  and  Harry  was  greatly 
surprised  to  see  his  uncle  presently  turn  on  his  heel  and 
walk  straight  away. 

"  That  question  seems  to  be  a  facer ;  it  must  be  re- 
peated whenever  the  good  old  man  becomes  offensive. 
I  wonder  what  he  did  get  for  me?" 

As  for  Mr.  Bunker,  he  retired  to  his  own  house  in 
Beaumont  Square,  walking  with  quick  steps  and  hang- 
ing head.  He  let  himself  in  with  his  latch-key,  and 
turned  into  his  office,  which,  of  course,  was  the  first 
room  of  the  ground-fioor. 

It  was  quite  dark  now,  save  for  the  faint  light  from 
the  street-gas,  but  Mr.  Bunker  did  not  want  any  light. 

He  sat  down  and  rested  his  face  on  his  hands,  with 
a  heavy  sigh.  The  house  was  empty,  because  his 
housekeeper  and  only  servant  was  out. 

He  sat  without  moving  for  half  an  hour  or  so;  then 
he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  about  him — he  had  for- 
gotten where  he  was  and  why  he  came  there — and  he 
shuddered. 

Then  he  hastily  lit  a  candle,  and  went  upstairs  to  his 
own  bedroom.  The  room  had  one  piece  of  furniture, 
not  always  found  in  bedrooms ;  it  was  a  good-sized  fire- 
proof safe,  which  stood  in  the  corner.  Mr.  Bunker 
placed  his  candle  on  the  safe,  and  stooping  down  began 
to  grope  about  with  his  keys  for  the  lock.  It  took  some 
time  to  find  the  keyhole;  when  the  safe  was  opened,  it 
took  longer  to  find  the  papers  which  he  wanted,  for 
these  were  at  the  very  ba,ck  of  all.  Presently,  how- 
ever, he  lifted  his  head  with  a  bundle  in  his  hand. 

Now,  if  we  are  obliged  to  account  for  everything, 
which  ought  not  to  be  expected,  and  is  more  than  one 
asks  of  scientific  men,  I  should  account  for  what  fol- 
lowed by  remarking  that  the  blood  is  apt  to  get  into  the 
brains  of  people,  especially  elderly  people,  and,  above 
all,  stout,  elderly  people,  when  they  stoop  for  an}^  length 
of  time;  and  that  history  records  many  remarkable 
manifestations  of  the  spirit  world  which  have  followed 
a  posture  of   stooping  too  prolonged.     It  produces,  in 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  105 

fact,  a  condition  of  brain  beloved  b}-  ghosts.  There  is 
the  leading  case  of  the  man  at  Cambridge,  who,  after 
stooping  for  a  book,  saw  the  ghost  of  his  own  bed- 
maker  at  a  time  when  he  knew  her  to  be  in  the  bosom 
of  her  family  eating  up  his  bread-and-butter  and  drink- 
ing his  tea.  Rats  have  been  seen  b}'  others — troops  of 
rats — as  many  rats  as  followed  the  piper,  where  there 
were  no  rats ;  and  there  is  even  the  recorded  case  of  a 
man  who  saw  the  ghost  of  himself,  which  prognos- 
ticated dissolution,  and,  in  fact,  killed  him  exactly 
fifty-two  3'ears  after  the  event.  So  that,  realh",  there 
is  nothing  at  all  unusual  in  the  fact  that  Mr.  Bunker 
saw  something  when  he  lifted  his  head.  The  remark- 
able thing  is  that  he  saw  the  very  person  of  whom  he 
had  been  thinking  ever  since  his  nephew's  question — no 
other  than  his  deceased  wife's  sister;  he  had  never 
loved  her  at  all,  or  in  the  least  desired  to  marry  her, 
which  makes  the  case  more  remarkable  still;  and  she 
stood  before  him  just  as  if  she  was  alive,  and  gazed 
upon  him  with  reproachful  eyes. 

He  behaved  with  great  coolness  and  presence  of 
mind.  Few  men  would  have  shown  more  braverj'. 
He  just  dropped  the  candle  out  of  one  hand  and  the 
papers  out  of  the  other,  and  fell  back  upon  the  bed  with 
a  white  face  and  quivering  lips.  Some  men  would  have 
run — 'he  did  not;  in  fact,  he  could  not.  His  knees  in- 
stinctively knew  that  it  is  useless  to  run  from  a  ghost, 
and  refused  to  aid  him. 

"'  Caroline !"  he  groaned. 

As  he  spoke  the  figure  vanished,  making  no  sign 
and  saying  no  word.  After  a  while,  seeing  that  the 
ghost  came  no  more,  Mr.  Bunker  pulled  himself  to- 
gether. He  picked  up  the  papers  and  the  candle  and 
went  slowly  downstairs  again,  turning  every  moment 
to  see  if  his  sister-in-law  came  too.  But  she  did  not, 
and  he  went  to  the  bright  gas-lit  back  parlor,  where  his 
supper  was  spread. 

After  supper  he  mixed  a  glass  of  brandy-and-water, 
stiff.  After  drinking  this  he  mixed  another,  and  be- 
gan to  smoke  a  pipe  while  he  turned  over  tlie  papers. 

''He  can't  have  meant  anything,"  he  said.  "AVhat 
should  the  l)oy  know?  What  did  the  gentleman  know? 
Nothing.    What  does  anybody  know?    Nothing.    There 


106  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

is  nobody  left.  The  will  Avas  witnessed  by  Mr.  Mes- 
senger and  Bob  Coppin.     Well,  one  of  them  is  dead, 

and  as  for  the  other "  [he  paused  and  winced] — "  as 

for  the  other,  it  is  five-and-twenty  years  since  he  was 
heard  of,  so  he's  dead,  too;  of  course,  he's  dead." 

TJien  he  remembered  the  spectre  and  he  trembled. 
For  suppose  Caroline  meant  coming  often ;  this  would 
be  particularly  disagreeable.  He  remembered  a  certain 
scene  where,  three-and-twenty  years  before,  he  had 
stood  at  a  bedside  while  a  dying  woman  spoke  to  him ; 
the  words  she  said  were  few,  and  he  remembered  them 
quite  well,  even  after  so  long  a  time,  which  showed  his 
real  goodness  of  heart. 

"  You  are  a  hard  man,  Bunker,  and  you  think  too 
much  of  money ;  and  you  were  not  kind  to  your  wife. 
But  I'm  going  too,  and  there  is  nobody  left  to  trust  my 
boy  to,  except  j'ou.  Be  good  to  him,  Bunker,  for  your 
dead  wife's  sake." 

He  remembered,  too,  how  he  had  promised  to  be  good 
to  the  boy,  not  meaning  much  by  the  words,  perhaps, 
but  softened  by  the  presence  of  death. 

"  It  is  not  as  if  the  boy  was  penniless,"  she  said ;  "  his 
houses  w^ill  pay  you  for  his  keep,  and  to  spare.  You 
will  lose  nothing  by  him.     Promise  me  again." 

He  remembered  that  he  had  promised  a  second  time 
that  he  would  be  good  to  the  boy ;  and  he  remembered, 
too,  how  the  promise  seemed  then  to  involve  great  ex- 
pense in  canes. 

"If  you  break  the  solemn  promise,"  she  said,  with 
feminine  prescience,  "  I  warn  j^ou  that  he  shall  do  you 
an  injury  when  he  grows  up.     Remember  that." 

He  did  remember  it  now,  though  he  had  quite  for- 
gotten this  detail  a  long  while  ago.  The  boy  had  re- 
turned ;  he  was  grown  up ;  he  could  do  him  an  injurj^, 
if  lie  kneiv  how.  Because  he  only  had  to  ask  his  uncle 
for  an  account  of  those  houses.  Fortunately,  he  did 
not  know.  Happily,  there  was  no  one  to  tell  him. 
With  his  third  tumbler  Mr.  Bunker  became  quite  confi- 
dent and  reassured ;  with  his  fourth  he  felt  inclined  to 
be  merry,  and  to  slap  himself  on  the  back  for  wide- 
awakedness  of  the  rarest  kind.  With  his  fifth,  he  re- 
solved to  go  upstairs  and  tell  Caroline  that  unless  she 
went  and  told  her  son,  no  one  would.     He  carried  part 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  107 

of  this  resolution  into  effect;  that  is  to  say,  he  went  to 
liis^  bedroom,  and  his  housekeeper,  unobserved  herself 
liad  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  master  ascending  the 
stairs  on  his  hands  and  feet— a  method  which  offers 
great  advantages  to  a  gentleman  who  has  had  five  tum- 
blers ot  brandy-and-water. 

When  he  got  there,  and  had  quite  succeeded  in  shut- 
ting the  door— not  always  so  easy  a  thing  as  it  looks- 
Caroline  was  no  longer  visible.     He  could  not  find  her 
anywhere,  though  he  went  all  round  the  room  twice 
on  all-tours,  in  search  of  her.  ' 

The  really  remarkable  part  of  this  story  is,  that  she 
has  never  paid  a  visit  to  her  son  at  all. 

Meantime,  the  strollers  on  the  green  were  grown 
few.  Most  of  them  had  gone  home ;  but  the  air  was 
warm,  and  there  were  still  some  who  lingered.  Among 
them  were  Angela  and  the  girl  who  was  to  be  her  fore- 
woman. 

When  Rebekah  found  that  her  employer  was  not 
apparently  of  those  who  try  to  cheat,  or  bully  or  cajole 
her  subordinates,  she  lost  her  combative  air,  and  con- 
sented to  talk  about  things.  She  gave  Angela  a  great 
deal  of  information  about  the  prospects  of  her  venture 
which  were  gloomy,  as  she  thought,  as  the  competition 
was  so  severe.  She  also  gave  her  an  insight  into  details 
of  a  practical  nature  concerning  the  conduct  of  a  dress- 
makery,  into  which  we  need  not  follow  her. 

Angela  discovered  before  they  parted  that  she  had 
two  sides  to  her  character:  on  one  side  she  was  a  prac- 
tical and  practised  woman  of  work  and  business;  on  the 
other  she  was  a  religious  fanatic. 

"We  wait,"  she  said,  "for  the  world  to  come  round 
to  us.  Oh !  I  know  we  are  but  a  little  body  and  a  poor 
tolk  Father  is  almost  alone ;  but  what  a  thing  it  is  to 
be  the  appointed  keepers  of  the  truth !  Come  and  hear 
us  Miss  Kennedy.  Father  always  converts  any  one 
who  will  Hsten  to  him.  Oh,  do  listen !" 
^  Then  she,  too,  went  away,  and  Angela  was  left  alone 
m  the  quiet  place.  Presently  she  became  aware  that 
ilarry  was  standing  beside  her. 

_    "Don't  let  us  go  home  yet,"  he  said;  "Bormalack's 
IS  desperately  dull— you  can  picture  it  all  to  yourself. 


108  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

The  professor  has  got  a  new  trick;  Daniel  Fagg  is 
looking  as  if  he  had  met  with  more  disappointment; 
her  ladyship  is  short  of  temper,  because  the  case  is  get- 
ting on  so  slowly ;  and  Josephus  is  sighing  over  a  long 
pipe ;  and  Mr.  Maliphant  is  chuckling  to  himself  in  the 
corner.  On  the  whole,  it  is  better  here.  Shall  we  re- 
main a  little  longer  in  the  open  air,  Miss  Kennedy?" 

He  looked  dangerous.  Angela,  who  had  been  dis- 
posed to  be  expansive,  froze. 

"  We  will  have  one  more  turn,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Goslett."  She  added  stiffly,  "Only  remember — so  long 
as  you  don't  think  of  'keeping  company.'  " 

"I  understand  perfectly.  Miss  Kennedy.  'Society' 
is  a  better  word  than  'company;'  let  us  keep  that,  and 
make  a  new  departure  for  Stepney  Green." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    DAY    BEFORE    THE    FIRST. 

Mr.  Bunker,  en  hon  cliretien,  dissembled  his  wrath, 
and  continued  his  good  work  of  furnishing  and  ar- 
ranging the  house  for  Angela,  insomuch  that  before 
many  days  the  place  was  completely  ready  for  opening. 

In  the  mean  time.  Miss  Kennedy  was  away — she  went 
away  on  business — and  Bormalack's  was  dull  without 
her.  Harry  found  some  consolation  in  superintending 
some  of  the  work  for  her  house,  and  in  working  at  a 
grand  cabinet  which  he  designed  for  her :  it  was  to  be 
a  miracle  of  wood-carving;  he  would  throw  into  the 
work  all  the  resources  of  his  art  and  all  his  genius. 
When  she  came  back,  after  the  absence  of  a  week,  she 
looked  full  of  business  and  of  care.  Harr}^  thought  it 
must  be  money  worries,  and  began  to  curse  Bunker's 
long  bill ;  but  she  was  gracious  to  him  in  her  queenly 
way.  Moreover,  she  assured  him  that  all  was  going  on 
well  with  her,  better  than  she  could  have  hoped.  The 
evening  before  the  "  Stepney  Dressmakers'  Association" 
was  to  open  its  doors,  they  all  gathered  together  in  the 
newly  furnished  house  for  a  final  inspection — Angela, 
her  two  aids  Rebekah  and  Nelly,  and  the  young  man 
against  whose  companionship  Mr.  Bunker  had  warned 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  109 

her  in  vain.  The  house  was  large,  with  rooms  on  either 
side  the  door.  These  were  showrooms  and  work- 
rooms. The  first  floor  Angela  reserved  for  her  own 
purposes,  and  she  was  mysterious  about  them.  At  the 
back  of  the  house  stretched  a  long  and  ample  garden. 
Angela  had  the  whole  of  it  covered  with  asphalt ;  the 
beds  of  flowers  or  lawns  were  all  covered  over.  At  the 
end  she  had  caused  to  be  built  a  large  room  of  glass, 
the  object  of  which  she  had  not  yet  disclosed. 

As  regards  the  appointments  of  the  house,  she  had 
taken  one  precaution — Rebekah  superintended  them. 
Mr.  Bunker,  therefore,  was  fain  to  restrict  his  enthusi- 
asm, and  could  not  charge  more  than  twentj^  or  thirt}^ 
per  cent,  above  the  market  value  of  the  things.  But 
Eebekah,  though  she  carried  out  her  instructions,  could 
not  but  feel  disappointed  at  the  lavish  scale  in  which 
things  were  ordered  and  paid  for.  The  show-rooms 
were  as  fine  as  if  the  place  were  Regent  Street ;  the 
workrooms  were  looked  after  with  as  much  eare  for 
ventilation  as  if,  Mr.  Bunker  said,  work-girls  were 
countesses. 

"It  is  too  good,"  Rebekah  expostulated,  "much  too 
good  for  us.     It  will  only  make  other  girls  discontented . " 

"'  I  want  to  make  them  discontented,"  Angela  replied. 
"Unless  they  are  discontented,  there  will  be  no  improve- 
ment. Think,  Rebekah,  what  it  is  that  lifts  men  out 
of  the  level  of  the  beasts.  We  find  out  that  there  are 
better  things,  and  we  are  fighting  our  way  upward. 
That  is  the  mystery  of  discontent — and  perhaps  pain, 
as  well." 

"Ah!"  Rebekah  saw  that  this  was  not  a  practical 
answer.  "  But  you  don't  know  yet  the  competition  of 
the  East  End,  and  the  straits  we  are  put  to.  It  is  not 
as  at  the  West  End." 

The  golden  West  is  ever  the  Land  of  Promise.  No 
need  to  undeceive ;  let  her  go  on  in  the  belief  that  the 
three  thousand  girls  who  wait  and  work  about  Regent 
Street  and  the  great  shops  are  everywhere  treated  gen- 
erously, and  paid  above  the  market- value  of  their  ser- 
vices. I  make  no  doubt,  myself,  that  many  a  great 
mercer  sits  down,  when  Christmas  warms  his  heart,  in 
his  mansion  at  Finchley,  Campden  Hill,  Fitz  John's 
Avenue,  or  Stoke  Xewington,  and  writes  great  checks 


110  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

as  gifts  to  the  uncomplaining  girls  who  build  up  liis 
income. 

"  She  would  learn  soon, "  said  Rebekah,  hoping  that 
the  money  would  last  out  till  the  ship  was  fairly 
launched. 

She  was  not  suspicious,  but  there  was  something 
"funny,"  as  Nelly  said,  in  a  girl  of  Miss  Kennedy's 
stamp  coming  among  them.  Why  did  she  choose 
Stepney  Green?  Surely,  Bond  Street  or  Regent  Street 
would  be  better  fitted  for  a  lady  of  her  manners.  How 
would  customers  be  received  and  orders  be  taken?  By 
herself,  or  by  this  young  lady,  who  would  certainly 
treat  the  ladies  of  Stepney  with  little  of  that  deferential 
courtesy  which  they  expected  of  these  dressmakers? 
For,  as  you  may  have  remarked,  the  lower  you  descend, 
as  well  as  the  higher  you  climb,  the  more  deference  do 
the  ladies  receive  at  the  hands  of  their  trades-folk.  No 
duchess  sweeps  into  a  milliner's  showroom  with  more 
dignity  than  her  humble  sister  at  Clare  Market  on  a 
Saturday  evening  displa3's  when  she  accepts  the  invi- 
tation of  the  butcher  to  "  Rally  up,  ladies,"  and  selects  her 
Sunday  piece  of  beef.  The  ladies  of  Stepney  and  the 
Mile  End  Road,  thought  Rebekah,  looked  for  attentions. 
Would  Miss  Kennedy  give  it  to  them?  If  Miss  Ken- 
nedy herself  did  not  attend  to  the  showroom,  what 
would  she  do? 

On  this  evening,  after  they  had  walked  over  the 
whole  house,  visited  the  asphalted  garden,  and  looked 
into  the  great  glass-room,  Angela  unfolded  her  plans. 

It  was  in  the  workroom.  She  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  looking  about  her  with  an  air  of  pride  and 
anxiety.  It  was  her  own  design — her  own  scheme; 
small  as  it  was,  compared  with  that  other  vast  project, 
she  was  anxious  about  it.  It  had  to  succeed ;  it  must 
succeed. 

All  its  success,  she  thought,  depended  upon  that  sturdy 
little  fanatical  seventh-day  young  person.  It  was  she 
who  was  to  rule  the  place  and  be  the  practical  dress- 
maker.    And  now  she  was  to  be  told. 

"  Now,"  said  Angela,  with  some  hesitation,  "  the  time 
has  come  for  an  explanation  of  the  way  we  shall  work. 
First  of  all,  will  you,  Rebekah,  undertake  the  manage- 
ment and  control  of  the  business?" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  HI 

"I,  Mu.s  Kennedy?     But  what  is  3'our  department?" 

"  I  will  undertake  the  management  of  the  girls— she 
stopped  and  blushed—*'  out  of  their  work-time.'' 

At  this  extraordinary  announcement  the  two  girls 
looked  blankly  at  their  employer. 

"You  do  not  quite  understand,"  Angela  went  on. 
"  Wait  a  little.     Do  you  consent,  Rebekah?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed  and  her  cheeks  became  aflame. 
Then  she  thought  of  the  sudden  promotion  of  Joseph, 
and  she  took  confidence.  Perhaps  she  really  was  equal 
to  the  place ;  perhaps  she  had  actually  merited  the  dis- 
tinction. 

"Very  well,  then,"  Miss  Kennedy  went  on,  as  if  it 
was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  a  humble 
workwoman  should  be  suddenly  raised  to  the  proud 
post  of  manager.  "Very  well;  that  is  settled.  You, 
Nelly,  will  try  to  take  care  of  the  workroom  when  Re- 
bekah is  not  there.     As  regards  the  accounts '' 

"I  can  keep  them,  too,"  said  Rebekah.  "I  shall 
work — on  Sundays,"  she  added  with  a  blush. 

Miss  Kennedy  then  proceeded  to  expound  her  views 
as  regards  the  management  of  her  establishment. 

"  The  girls  will  be  here  at  nine,"  she  said. 

Rebekah  nodded.  There  could  be  no  objection  to 
that. 

"They  will  work  from  nine  till  eleven,"  Rebekah 
started.  "  Yes,  I  know  what  I  mean.  The  long  hours 
of  sitting  and  bending  the  back  over  the  work  are  just 
as  bad  a  thing  for  girls  of  fifteen  or  so  as  could  be  in- 
vented. At  eleven,  therefore,  we  shall  have,  all  of  us, 
half  an  hour's  exercise." 

Exercise?  Exercise  in  a  dressmaker's  shop?  Was 
Miss  Kennedy  in  her  senses? 

"You  see  that  asphalt.  Surely  some  of  you  can 
guess  what  it  is  for?"     She  looked  at  Harry. 

"  Skittles?"  he  suggested  frivolously. 

"No.     Lawn  tennis.     Well!  why  not?" 

"What  is  lawn  tennis?"  asked  Nelly. 

"A  game,  my  dear;  and  3'ou  shall  learn  it." 

"I  never  play  games,"  said  Rebekah.  "A  serious 
person  has  no  room  in  her  life  for  games." 

"  Then  call  it  exercise,  and  you  will  be  able  to  play 
it   without   wounding    your    conscience."      This   was 


112  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

Harry's  remark.  "AVhy  not,  indeed,  Miss  Kennedy? 
The  game  of  lawn  tennis,  Nelly,"  he  went  on  to  ex- 
plain, "  is  greatl}'^  in  vogue  among  the  bloated  aristoc- 
racy, as  my  cousin  Dick  will  tell  you.  That  it  should 
descend  to  j'ou  and  me  and  the  likes  of  us  is  nothing 
less  than  a  social  revolution." 

Nell}"  smiled,  but  she  only  half  understood  this  kind  of 
language.  A  man  who  laughed  at  things,  and  talked  of 
things  as  if  they  were  meant  to  be  laughed  over,  was  a 
creature  she  had  never  before  met  with.  My  jpriends, 
lay  this  to  heart,  and  ponder.  It  is  not  until  a  certain 
standard  of  cultivation  is  reached  that  people  do  laugh 
at  things.  They  only  began  in  the  last  century,  and 
then  only  in  a  few  salons.  When  all  the  world  laughs, 
the  perfection  of  humanity  will  have  been  reached,  and 
the  comedy  will  have  been  plaj'ed  out. 

"  It  is  a  beaiitiful  game,"  said  Angela — meaning  lawn 
tennis,  not  the  comedy  of  humanity.  "  It  re(iuires  a 
great  deal  of  skill  and  exercises  a  vast  quantity  of  mus- 
cles; and  it  costs  nothing.  Asphalt  makes  a  perfect 
court,  as  I  know  very  well."  She  blushed,  because  she 
was  thinking  of  the  Newnham  courts.  "  We  shall  be 
able  to  play  there  whenever  it  does  not  rain.  When 
it  does,  there  is  the  glass-house." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  in  the  glass-house?" 
asked  Harry ;  "  throw  stones  at  other  people's  windows? 
That  is  said  to  be  very  good  exercise." 

"  I  am  going  to  set  up  a  gymnasium  for  the  girls." 

Rebekah  stared,  but  said  nothing.  This  was  revo- 
lutionary indeed. 

'■  If  they  please,  the  girls  can  bring  their  friends ;  we 
will  have  a  course  of  gymnastics  as  well  as  a  school  for 
lawn  tennis.  You  see,  Mr.  Goslett,  that  I  have  not 
forgotten  what  you  said  once." 

"What  was  that.  Miss  Kennedy?  It  is  very  good 
of  you  to  remember  anything  that  I  have  said.  Do 
you  mean  that  I  once,  accidentally,  said  a  thing  worth 
hearing?" 

"  Yes :  you  said  that  money  was  not  wanted  here  so 
much  as  work.  That  is  what  I  remembered.  If  you 
can  afford  it,  you  may  work  with  us,  for  there  is  a 
great  deal  to  do." 

"  I  can  afford  it  for  a  time." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  113 

"  We  shall  work  again  from  half -past  eleven  until  one. 
Then  we  shall  stop  for  dinner." 

"  The}"  bring  their  own  dinner,"  said  Rebekah.  "It 
takes  them  five  minutes  to  eat  it.  You  will  have  to 
give  them  tea." 

''No:  I  shall  give  them  dinner  too.  And  because 
growing  girls  are  dainty  and  sometimes  cannot  fancy 
things,  I  think  a  good  way  will  be  for  each  of  them, 
even  the  youngest,  to  take  turns  in  ordering  the  dinner 
and  seeing  it  prepared," 

Rebekah  groaned.  What  profits  could  stand  up 
against  such  lavish  expenditure  as  this? 

"  After  an  hour  for  dinner  we  shall  go  to  work  again. 
I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  the  afternoon,  which 
is  the  most  tedious  part  of  the  day,  and  I  think  the 
best  thing  will  be  to  have  reading  aloud." 

"  Who  is  to  read?"  cried  Rebekah. 

"  We  shall  find  somebody  or  other.  Tea  at  five,  and 
work  from  six  to  seven.     That  is  my  programme." 

"Then,  Miss  Kennedy,"  cried  her  forewoman,  "you 
will  be  a  ruined  woman  in  a  year." 

"  No — she  shook  her  head  with  hor  gracious  smile — 
"  no,  I  hope  not.  And  I  think  you  will  find  that  we 
shall  be  verv  far  from  ruined.  Have  a  little  faith. 
What  do  yoii  think,  Nelly?" 

"  Oh,  I  think  it  beautiful !"  she  replied,  with  a  gaze 
of  soft  worship  in  her  limpid  eyes.  "  It  is  so  beautiful 
that  it  must  be  a  dream,  and  cannot  last." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Goslett?" 

"  I  say  that  cabinet-making  ought  to  be  conducted 
in  the  same  liberal  spirit.  But  I'm  afraid  it  won't 
pay." 

Then  Miss  Kennedy  took  them  to  the  room  on  the 
first  floor.  The  room  at  the  back  was  fitted  as  a  dining- 
room,  quite  simply,  with  a  dozen  chairs  and  a  long 
table.  Plates,  cups,  and  things  were  ranged  upon 
shelves  as  if  in  a  kitchen. 

She  led  them  to  the  front  room.  When  her  hand 
was  on  the  lock  she  turned  and  smiled,  and  held  up 
her  finger  as  if  to  prepare  them  for  a  surprise. 

The  floor  was  painted  and  bare  of  carpet ;  the  win- 
dows were  dressed  with  pretty  curtains.  There  were 
sconces  on  the  walls  for  candles ;  in  the  recess  stood  her 
« 


114  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

piano ;  and  for  chairs  there  were  two  or  three  rout-seats 
ranojed  along-  the  walL 

"\Vhat  is^this*?"  asked  Rebekah. 

"  My  dear,  girls  want  plaj'-  as  well  as  work.  The 
more  innocent  play  they  get,  the  better  for  them.  This 
is  a  room  where  we  shall  play  all  sorts  of  things: 
sometimes  we  shall  dance;  sometimes  we  shall  act; 
sometimes  we  shall  sing;  sometimes  we  shall  read 
poetry  or  tales;  sometimes  we  shall  romp;  the  girls 
shall  bring  their  friends  here  as  well  as  to  the  gym- 
nasium and  the  lawn  tennis,  if  they  please." 

"  And  who  is  to  pay  for  all  thisV"  asked  Rebekah. 

"My  friends,"  said  Angela,  coloring,  because  this 
was  a  crisis,  and  to  be  suspected  at  such  a  point  would 
have  been  fatal — "  my  friends,  I  have  to  make  a  con- 
fession to  3'ou.  I  have  worked  out  the  design  by  my- 
self. I  saw  how  the  girls  in  our  workshops  toil  for 
long  hours  and  little  pay.  The  great  shops,  whose 
partners  are  very  rich  men,  treat  them  no  better  than 
do  the  poor  traders  whose  living  has  to  be  got  by  scrap- 
ing it  oif  their  wages.  Now,  I  thought  that  if  we  were 
to  start  a  shop  in  which  there  was  to  be  no  mistress, 
but  to  be  self-governed,  and  to  share  the  proceeds 
among  all  in  due  order  and  with  regard  to  skill  and 
industry,  we  might  adjust  our  own  hours  for  the  gen- 
eral good.  This  kind  of  shop  has  been  tried  by  men, 
but  I  think  it  has  never  succeeded,  because  they  wanted 
the  capital  to  start  with.  What  could  we  three  girls 
have  done  with  nothing  but  our  own  hands  to  help  us? 
So  I  wrote  to  a  young  lady  who  has  much  money. 
Yes,  Mr.  Goslett,  I  wrote  to  that  Miss  Messenger  of 
whom  we  have  so  often  talked." 

"  Miss  Messenger !"  Rebekah  gasped ;  "  she  who  owns 
the  great  brewery?" 

"  The  same.  She  has  taken  up  our  cause.  It  is  she 
who  finds  the  funds  to  start  us,  just  as  well  as  if  we 
had  capital.  She  gives  us  the  reat  for  a  year,  the  fur- 
niture, the  glass-house — everything,  even  this  piano. 
I  have  a  letter  from  her  in  my  pocket."  She  took  it  out 
and  read  it.  "  Miss  Messenger  begs  to  thank  j\Iiss 
Kennedy  for  her  report  of  the  progress  made  in  her 
scheme.  She  quite  approves  of  the  engagements  made, 
particularly   those  of  Rebekah    Hermitage  and  N^^\v 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOSS  OF  2IEX.  115 

Sorensen.  She  hopes,  hefore  long,  to  visit  the  house 
herself  and  make  their  acquaintance.  Meanwhile  she 
will  employ  the  house  for  all  such  things  as  she  requires, 
and  begs  Miss  Kennedy  to  convey  to  Miss  Hermitage 
the  first  order  for  the  workshop."  This  gracious  letter 
was  accompanied  by  a  long  list  of  things,  at  sight  of 
which  the  forewoman's  eyes  glittered  with  joy. 

"  Uh,  it  is  a  splendid  order !"  she  said.  "  May  we  tell 
everybody  about  this  Miss  Messenger?" 

"  I  think,"  Angela  replied,  considering  carefulh^ 
"  that  it  would  be  better  not.  Let  people  only  know 
that  we  have  started ;  that  we  are  a  body  of  work- 
women governing  ourselves,  and  working  for  our- 
selves.    The  rest  is  for  our  private  information." 

"While  you  are  about  it,"  said  Harry,  "you  might 
persuade  Miss  Messenger  to  start  the  Palace  of  Delight 
and  the  College  of  Art." 

"Do  5'ou  think  she  would?"  asked  Angela.  "Do 
you  really  think  it  would  be  of  any  use  at  all?" 

"  Did  she  haggle  about  vour  Co-operative  Associ- 
ation?" 

"  ISTo,  not  at  all.  She  quite  agreed  with  me  from  the 
beginning." 

"  Tlien,  try  her  for  the  palace.  See,  Miss  Kennedy — " 
the  young  man  had  become  quite  earnest  and  eager 
over  the  palace — "it  is  only  a  question  of  money.  If 
Miss  Messenger  pants  to  do  a  thing  unparalleled  among 
the  deeds  of  rich  men,  let  her  build  the  Palace  of  De- 
light. If  I  were  she,  I  should  tremble  for  fear  some 
other  person  with  money  got  to  hear  of  the  idea,  and 
should  step  in  before  her.  Of  course,  the  grand  thing 
in  these  cases  is  to  be  the  first." 

"  What  is  a  Palace  of  Delight?"  asked  Xelly. 

"Truly  wonderful  it  is,"  said  Harry, "to  think  how 
monotonous  are  the  gifts  and  bequests  of  rich  men. 
Schools,  churches,  almshouses,  hospitals — that  is  all; 
that  is  their  monotonous  round.  Now  and  again,  a 
man  like  Peabody  remembers  that  men  want  houses  to 
live  in,  not  hovels ;  or  a  good  woman  remembers  that 
they  want  sound  and  wholesome  food,  and  builds  a 
market;  but,  as  a  rule,  schools,  churches,  almshouses, 
hospitals.  Look  at  the  lack  of  originality.  Miss  Ken- 
nedy, go  and  see  this  rich  person ;  ask  her  if  she  wants 


116  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

to  do  the  grandest  thing  ever  done  for  men ;  ask  her  if 
she  will,  as  a  new  and  startling  point  of  departure, 
remember  that  men  want  joy.  If  she  will  ask  me,  I 
will  deliver  a  lecture  on  the  necessity  of  pleasure,  the 
desirableness  of  pleasure,  the  beauty  of  pleasure." 

"A  Palace  of  Delight!"  Rebekah  shook  her  head. 
"  Do  you  know  that  half  the  people  never  go  to  church?" 

"When  we  have  got  the  palace,"  said  Harry,  "they 
will  go  to  church,  because  religion  is  a  plant  that  flour- 
ishes best  where  life  is  happiest.  It  will  spring  up 
among  us,  then,  as  luxuriantly  as  the  wild  honey- 
suckle. Who  are  the  most  religious  people  in  the 
world.  Miss  Hermitage?" 

"  They  are  the  worshippers  in  Red  Man's  Lane,  and 
they  are  called  the  Seventh-Day  Independents." 

The  worst  of  the  Socratic  method  of  argument  is 
that,  when  the  wrong  answer  is  given,  the  whole  thing 
comes  to  grief.  Now,  Harry  wanted  her  to  say  that 
the  people  who  go  most  to  church  are  the  wealthy 
classes.  Rebekah  did  not  say  so,  because  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  wealthy  classes ;  and  in  her  own  circle 
of  sectarian  enthusiasts,  nobody  had  any  money  at  all. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    GREAT    DAVENANT    CASE. 

"  Oh  !  you  obstinate  old  man !    Oh !  you  lazy  old  man !" 

It  was  the  high-pitched  voice  of  her  ladyship  in  reed- 
iest tones,  and  the  time  was  eleven  o'clock  in  the  fore- 
noon, when,  as  a  rule,  she  was  engaged  in  some  needle- 
work for  herself,  or  assisting  Mrs.  Bormalack  with  the 
pudding,  in  a  friendly  way,  while  her  husband  con- 
tinued the  statement  of  the  case,  left  alone  in  the  en- 
joyment of  the  sitting-room — and  his  title. 

"  You  lazy  old  man !" 

The  words  were  overheard  by  Harry  Goslett.  He 
had  been  working  at  his  miraculous  cabinet,  and  was 
now,  following  the  example  of  Miss  Kennedy's  work- 
girls,  "  knocking  off"  for  half  an  hour,  and  thinking  of 
some  excuse  for  passing  the  rest  of  the  morning  with 
that  young  lady.  He  stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  across 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  117 

the  green  to  the  sacred  windows  of  the  Dressmakers' 
Association.  Behind  them  at  this  moment  were  sit- 
ting, he  knew,  the  Queen  of  the  Mystery,  with  that 
most  beauteous  nymph,  the  matchless  Nelly,  fair  and 
lovely  to  look  upon;  and  with  her,  too,  Rebekah  the 
downright,  herself  a  mystery,  and  half  a  dozen  more, ' 
some  of  them,  perhaps,  beautiful.  Alas!  in  working- 
hours  these  doors  were  closed.  Perhaps,  he  thought, 
when  the  cabinet  was  finished  he  might  make  some 
play  by  carrying  it  backward  and  forward,  measuring, 
fitting,  altering. 

"  You  laz3%  sinful,  sleepy  old  man  1" 

A  voice  was  heard  feebly  remonstrating. 

"  Oh !  oh !  oh !"  she  cried  again  in  accents  that  rose 
higher  and  higher,  "  we  have  come  all  the  w-ay  from 
America  to  prove  our  case.  There's  four  months  gone 
out  of  six— oh!  oh!— and  you  with  your  feet  upon  a 
chair— oh !  oh !— do  you  think  you  are  back  in  Canaan 
City?" 

"Clara  Martha,"  replied  his  lordship,  in  clear  and 
distinct  tones — the  window  was  wide  open,  so  that  the 
words  floated  out  upon  the  summer  air  and  struck 
gently  upon  Harry's  ear—"  Clara  Martha,  I  wish  I  was; 
it  is  now  holiday  time,  and  the  boys  are  out  in  the 

woods.     And  the  schoolroom "   [he  stopped,  sighed 

deeply,  and  yawned]—"  it  was  very  peaceful." 

She  groaned  in  sheer  despair. 

"He  is  but  a  carpenter,"  she  said;  "he  grovels  in 
the  shavings ;  he  wallows  in  the  sawdust.  Fie  upon 
him !  This  man  a  British  peer?  Oh !  shame— shame !" 
Harry  pictured  the  quivering  shoulders  and  the  finger 
of  reproach.  "  Oh !  oh !  He  is  not  worthv  to  wear  a 
coronet.  Give  him  a  chunk  of  wood  to  whittle,  and  a 
knife,  and  a  chair  in  the  shade,  and  somethin'  to  rest 
h^is  feet  upon.  That's  all  he  wants,  though  Queen 
Victoria  and  all  the  angels  was  callin'  for  him  across 
the  ocean  to  take  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
Shame  on  him !     Shame  upon  him !" 

These  taunts,  apparently,  had  no  effect.  His  lord- 
ship was  understood  by  the  listener  to  say  something 
disrespectful  of  the  Upper  House,  and  to  express  regret 
at  having  exchanged  his  humble  but  contented  position 
of  a  school-teacher  and   his  breakfast,  where  a  man 


118  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

could  look  around  him  and  see  hot  rolls  and  muffins  and 
huckleberry  pies,  for  the  splendor  of  a  title,  with  the 
meagre  fare  of  London  and  the  hard  work  of  drawing 
up  a  case. 

"I  ivill  rouse  him!"  she  cried,  as  she  executed  some 
movement,  the  nature  of  which  could  only  be  guessed 
by  the  young  man  outside.  The  windows,  it  is  true, 
were  open;  but  one's  eyes  cannot  go  outside  to  look 
in  without  the  rest  of  the  head  and  body  going  too. 
Whatever  it  was  that  she  did,  his  lordship  apparently 
sprang  into  the  air  with  a  loud  cry,  and,  if  sounds  mean 
anything,  ran  hastily  round  the  table,  followed  by  his 
illustrious  consort. 

The  listener  says  and  always  maintains — "Hairpin." 
Those  who  consider  her  ladyship  incapable  of  behavior 
which  might  appear  undignified  reject  that  interpre- 
tation. Moral,  not  physical,  were,  according  to  these 
thinkers,  the  means  of  awakening  adopted  by  Lady 
Davenant.  Even  the  officers  of  the  Salvation  Army, 
they  say,  do  not  use  hairpins. 

*' In  the  name  of  common  humanity,"  said  Harry  to 
himself,  "one  must  interfere."  He  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  allowed  time  for  the  restoration  of  dignity 
and  the  smoothing  of  ruffled  plumes. 

He  found  his  lordship  seated,  it  is  true,  but  in  the 
IV rang  chair,  and  his  whole  frame  was  trembling  with 
excitement,  terror,  or  some  other  strong  emotion,  while 
the  effort  he  was  making  to  appear  calm  and  composed 
caused  his  head  to  nod  and  his  cheeks  to  shake.  Never 
was  a  member  of  the  Ui3per  House  placed  in  a  more 
uncomfortable  position.  As  for  her  ladyship,  she  was 
standing  bolt  upright  at  the  other  side  of  the  room  at 
the  window.  There  was  a  gleam  in  her  eye  and  a 
quivering  of  her  lip  which  betokened  wrath. 

"  Pardon  me.  Lady  Davenant, "  said  Harrj^,  smiling 
sweetly.     "  May  I  interrupt  j^ou  for  a  few  moments?" 

"You  may,"  replied  her  husband,  speaking  for  her. 
"Go  on,  Mr.  Goslett.  Do  not  hurry  yourself,  pray. 
We  are  glad  to  see  you" — he  cleared  his  throat — "  very 
glad,  indeed." 

"  I  came  to  say, "  he  Avent  on,  still  addressing  the 
lady,  "that  I  am  a  comparatively  idle  man;  that  is,  for 
the  moment  I  have  no  work,  and  am  undecided  about 


ALL  SORT^   ASD  COXDITJONS  OF  MEN.  119 

my  movements,  and  that,  if  I  can  be  of  any  help  in  the 
preparation  of  the  case,  you  may  command  my  ser- 
vices. Of  course,  Lady  Davenant,  everybody  knows 
the  importance  of  your  labors  and  of  his  lordship's,  and 
the  necessity  of  a  clear  statement  of  your  case." 

Lad}-  Davenant  replied  with  a  cry  like  a  sea-gull. 
"  Oh  !  his  lordship's  labors,  indeed  !  Yes,  Mr.  Goslett, 
pretty  labors!  Day  after  day  goes  on — I  don't  care, 
Timothy — I  don't  care  who  knows  it — day  after  day 
goes  on,  and  we  get  no  farther.  Four  months  and  two 
weeks  gone  of  the  time,  and  the  case  not  even  written 
out  vet." 

"  What  time?"  asked  Harry. 

"  The  time  that  nephew  Nathaniel  gave  us  to  prove 
our  claim.  He  found  the  mone}-  for  our  passage;  he 
promised  us  six  dollars  a  week  for  six  months.  In  six 
months,  he  said,  we  should  find  whether  our  claim  was 
allowed  or  not.  There  it  was,  and  we  were  welcome 
for  six  months.  Only  six  weeks  left,  and  he  goes  to 
sleep!" 

''  But,  Lady  Davenant — only  six  weeks !  It  is  impos- 
sible— you  cannot  send  in  a  claim  and  get  it  acknowl- 
edged in  six  weeks.  Why,  si;ch  claims  may  drag  on 
for  years  before  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Lords." 

"  He  wastes  all  the  time ;  he  has  got  no  ambition :  he 
goes  to  sleep  when  he  ought  to  be  waking.  If  we  have 
to  go  home  again,  with  nothing  done,  it  will  be  be- 
cause he  is  so  lazy.  Shame  upon  you,  obstinate  old 
man !  Oh !  lazy  and  sleejiy  old  man !"  She  shook  her 
finger  at  him  in  so  terrifying  a  manner  that  he  was 
fain  to  clutch  at  the  arms  of  the  chair,  and  his  teeth 
chattered. 

"  Aurelia  Tucker,"  her  ladyship  went  on,  warming  to 
her  work  as  she  thought  of  her  wrongs — "  Aurelia 
Tucker  always  said  that,  lord  or  no  lord,  my  husband 
was  too  lazy  to  stand  up  for  his  rights.  Everybody  in 
Canaan  City  knew  that  he  was  too  lazy.  She  said  that 
if  she  was  me,  and  trying  to  get  the  familv  title,  she 
wouldn't  go  across  the  water  to  ask  for  ft,  but  she 
would  make  the  American  Minister  in  London  tell  the 
British  (xovernment  that  they  would  just  have  to  grant 
it,  wht'lher  they  liked  it  or  not,  and  that  a  plain  Ameri- 
can citizen  was  to  take  his  place  in  their  House  of 


1-20  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Lords.  Otherwise,  she  said,  let  the  Minister  tell  that  Mr. 
Gladstone  that  Canada  would  be  annexed.  That's  fine 
talkin',  but  as  for  me  I  want  things  done  friendly,  an' 
I  don't  want  to  see  my  husband  walkin'  into  his  proper 
place  in  Westminster  with  Stars  and  Stripes  fly  in'  over 
his  head  and  a  volunteer  fire  brigade  band  playin' 
'Hail,  Columbia,'  before  him.  No.  I  said  that  justice 
was  to  be  got  in  the  old  country,  and  we  only  had  to 
cross  over  and  ask  for  it.  Then  nephew  Nathaniel  said 
that  he  didn't  expect  much  more  justice  was  to  be  ex- 
pected in  England  than  in  New  Hampshire.  And  that 
what  you  can't  always  get  in  a  free  country  isn't  al- 
ways got  where  there's  lords  and  bishops  and  a  queen. 
But  we  might  try  if  we  liked  for  six  months,  and  he 
would  find  the  dollars  for  that  time.  Now  there's  only 
six  weeks  left,  and  we  haven't  even  begun  to  ask  for 
that  justice." 

"Clara  Martha," said  his  lordship,  "I've  been  think- 
ing the  matter  over,  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  Aurelia  Tucker  is  a  sensible  woman.  Let  us  go 
home  again,  and  send  the  case  to  the  Minister.  Let 
us  frighten  them." 

"It  does  not  seem  bad  advice,"  said  Harrj".  "Hold 
a  meeting  in  Canaan  City,  and  promise  the  British  Lion 
that  he  shall  be  whipped  into  a  cocked  hat  unless  you 
get  3'our  rights.     Make  a  national  thing  of  it." 

"  No !"  She  stamped  her  foot,  and  became  really  ter- 
rible. "  We  are  here,  and  we  will  demand  our  rights 
on  the  spot.  If  the  Minister  likes  to  take  up  the  case, 
he  may;  if  not,  we  will  fight  our  own  battles.  But  oh! 
Mr.  Goslett,  it's  a  dreadful  hard  thing  for  a  woman  and 
a  stranger  to  do  all  the  fightin'  while  her  husband  goes 
to  sleep." 

"Can't  you  keep  awake  till  you  have  stated  your 
case?"  asked  Harry.  "Come,  old  boy,  you  can  take  it 
out  in  slumber  afterward ;  and  if  you  go  on  sleeping 
till  the  case  is  decided,  I  expect  you  wiU  have  a  good 
long  refreshing  rest." 

"It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  Clara  Martha,"  his 
lordship  explained  in  apology,  "  quite  a  warm  morning. 
I  didn't  know  people  ever  had  such  warm  weather  in 
England.  And  somehow  it  reminded  me  of  Canaan 
City  in  July.     When  I  think  of  Canaan,  my  dear,  I  al- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  121 

ways  feel  sleepy.  There  was  a  garden,  Mr.  Goslett, 
and  trees  and  tiowers,  at  the  back  of  the  schoolhouse! 
And  a  bee  came  in.  I  didn't  know  there  were  bees  in 
England.  While  I  listened  to  that  bee,  bummin' 
around  most  the  same  as  if  he  was  in  a  free  republic 
I  began  to  think  of  home,  Clara  Martha.  That  is  all.'' 
"Was  it  the  bee,"  she  asked  with  asperity,  "that 
drew  your  handkerchief  over  your  head?" 
^^  "Clara  Martha,"  he  replied  with  a  little  hesitation, 
the  bee  was  a  stranger  to  me.  He  wjis  not  like  one  of 
our  New  Hampshire  bees.  He  had  never  seen  me  be- 
fore.    Bees  sting  strangers." 

Harry  interrupted  what  promised  to  be  the  beginning 
of  another  lovers'  quarrel,  to  judge  by  the  twitchings 
of  those  thm  shoulders  and  the  frowning  of  those  bead- 
like eyes. 

"  Lady  Davenant,"  he  said,  "  let  us  not  waste  the  time 
m  recrmimation ;  accept  my  services.  Let  me  help  you 
to  draw  up  the  statement  of  your  case." 

This  was  something  to  the  purpose :  with  a  last  re- 
proachful glance  upon  her  husband,  her  ladyship  col- 
lected the  papers  and  put  them  into  the  hands  of  her 
new  assistant. 

"I'm  sure,"  she  said,  "it's  more  'n  kind  of  you,  Mr. 
Goslett.  Here  are  all  the  papers.  Mind,  there  isn't 
the  least  doubt  about  it,  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt; 
there  never  was  a  claim  so  strong  and  clear.  Timothy 
Chtheroe  Davenant  is  as  much  Lord  Davenant  by  right 
of  lawful  descent,  as— as— you  are  3-our  father's  son." 

Harry  spent  the  morning  with  the  papers  spread  be- 
fore hmi,  arranging  the  case.  Lord  Davenant,  now 
undisturbed,  slept  quietly  in  his  arm-chair.  Her  lady- 
ship left  them  alone. 

About  half-past  twelve  the  sleeping  claimant  awoke 
and  rubbed  his  eyes.  "  I  have  had  a  most  refreshing 
slumber,  Mr.  Goslett,"  he  yawned ;  "  a  man  who  is  mar 
ried  wants  it.  Sometimes  it  is  what  we  shall  do  when 
we  get  the  title  confirmed;  sometimes  it's  why  we 
haven't  made  out  our  case  yet;  sometimes  it's  why  I 
don  t  go  and  see  the  Queen  myself;  sometimes  it  is  how 
we  shall  crow  over  Aurelia  Tucker  when  we  are  estab- 
hshed  m  our  rights.  .  .  .  but,  whatever  it  is,  it  is  never 
a  quiet  night.     I  think,  Mr.  Goslett,  that  if  she'd  only 


12a  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

hold  her  tongue  and  go  to  sleep,  I  might  make  headway 
with  that  case  in  the  morning." 

"  It  seems  straightforward  enough, "  said  Harry.  "  I 
can  draw  up  the  thing  for  you  without  any  trouble. 
And  then  3"ou  must  find  out  the  best  way  to  bring  your 
claim  before  the  House  of  Lords. " 

"Put  it  into  the  post-office,  addressed  to  the  Queen," 
suggested  the  claimant. 

"  No — not  quite  that,  I  think,"  said  Harry.  "  There's 
only  one  weak  point  in  the  case." 

"  I  knew  you'd  find  out  the  weak  point.  She  won't 
allow  there's  any  weak  point  at  all.  Says  it's  clear 
from  beginning  to  end. " 

"  So  it  is,  if  you  make  an  admission." 

"Well,  sir,  what  is  that  admission?  Let  us  make  it 
at  once,  and  go  on.  Nothing  can  be  fairer;  we  are 
quite  prepared  to  meet  you  half-way  with  that  admis- 
sion." 

His  lordship  spoke  as  if  conferring  an  immense  ad- 
vantage upon  an  imaginary  opponent. 

"  I  do  not  mind,"  he  said,  '"anybody  else  finding  out 
the  weak  point,  because  then  I  can  tackle  him.  What 
vexes  me,  Mr.  Goslett,  is  to  find  out  that  weak  point 
myself.  Because  then  there  is  nobody  to  argue  it  out 
with,  and  it  is  like  cold  water  running  down  the  back, 
and  it  keeps  a  man  awake." 

"  As  for  your  admission "  said  Harry,  laughing. 

"Well,  sir,  what  is  it?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  have  to  admit,  unless  yovi  can 
prove  it,  that  this  Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant,  wheel- 
wright, was  the  Honorable  Timothy  Clitheroe  Dave- 
nant, only  son  of  Lord  Davenant." 

His  lordship  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"  Do  you  think  sir,  that  the  Queen  will  see  this  weak 
point?" 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  her  advisers  will." 

"  And  do  you  think — hush,  Mr.  Goslett,  let  us  whis- 
per. Do  3'ou  think  that  the  Queen  will  refuse  to  give 
us  the  title  because  of  this  weak  point?  Hush!  she 
may  be  outside."  He  meant  his  wife,  not  Her  Maj- 
esty. 

"  A  committee  of  the  House  of  Lords  most  undoubt- 
edly may  refuse  to  consider  your  claim  proved." 


ALL  SOIiT.S  AND  COXDITIoys  OF  MEX.  123 

His  lordship  nodded  his  head  in  consideration  of  this 
possibility.  Then  he  laughed  gently  and  rubbed  his 
hands. 

"  It  would  be  rough  at  first.  That  is  so,  for  certain, 
sure.     There  would  be  sleepless  nights.     And  Aurelia 

Tucker  would   laugh.      Clara   Martha  would "  he 

shuddered.  "  Wal,  if  we  hev  to  go  home  without  our 
title,  I  should  be  resigned.  When  a  man  is  sixty  years 
of  age,  sir,  and,  though  born  to  greatness,  not  brought 
up  accordin'  to  his  birth,  he  can't  always  feel  like  set- 
tin'  in  a  row  with  a  crown  upon  his  head ;  and  though 
I  wouldn't  own  up  before  Clara  Martha,  I  doubt  whether 
the  British  peers  would  consider  my  company  quite  an 
honor  to  the  Upper  House.  Though  a  plain  citizen  of 
the  United  States,  sir,  is  as  good  as  any  lord  that 
lives." 

"  Better,"  said  Harry.     "  He  is  much  better." 

"  He  is,  Mr.  Goslett,  he  is.  In  the  land  where  the 
Bird  of  Freedom " 

"  Hush,  my  lord.  "  You  forget  that  you  are  a  Brit- 
ish peer.     No  spread-eagle  for  3'ou." 

Lord  Davenant  sighed. 

"  It  is  difficr  "  he  said,  "  and  I  suppose  there's  no 
more  loyal  citizens  than  us  of  Canaan  City." 

"  Well,  how  are  we  to  connect  the  wheelwright  Tim- 
othy with  the  Honorable  Timothy  who  was  supposed  to 
be  drowned?" 

"  There  is  his  age,  and  there  is  his  name.  You've 
got  those,  Mr.  Goslett.  And  then,  as  we  agreed  be- 
fore, we  will  agree  to  that  little  admission." 

''  But  if  everybody  does  not  agree?" 

"  There  is  also  the  fact  that  we  were  always  supposed 
to  be  heirs  to  something  in  the  old  countr}-. " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  not  enough.  There  is  this  great 
difficulty :  Why  should  a  j^oung  Englishman,  the  heir 
to  a  title  and  a  great  property,  settle  down  in  America 
and  practise  a  handicraft?" 

"  Wal,  sir,  I  can't  rightly  say.  My  grandfather  car- 
ried that  secret  with  him.  And  if  von '11  oblige  me, 
sir,  you'll  tell  her  ladyship  that  we're  agreed  upon  that 
little  admission  which  makes  the  connection  complete. 
It  will  be  time  enough  to  undeceive  her  when  the 
trouble   begins.       As   for   Aurelia   Tucker,    why " 


134  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN. 

here   he   smiled   sweetly.     "  If  I  know  Clara  Martha 
aright,  she  is  quite  able  to  tackle  Aurelia  by  herself." 

This  was  the  way  in  which  the  conduct  of  the  Great 
Davenant  Case  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  mere  working- 
man. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE     FIRST     DAY. 

Angela's  genteel  place  of  business,  destined  as  it 
was  to  greatness,  came  into  the  world  with  little  pomp 
and  no  pretence.  On  the  day  appointed,  the  work-girls 
came  at  nine,  and  found  a  brass  plate  on  the  door  and 
a  wire  blind  in  the  windows,  bearing  the  announce- 
ment that  this  was  the  "Dressmakers'  Association." 
This  information  gave  them  no  curiosity,  and  produced 
no  excitement  in  their  minds.  To  them  it  seemed  noth- 
ing but  another  artifice  to  attract  the  attention  of  a  pub' 
lie  ver}'  hard  to  move.  They  were  quite  used  to  these 
crafty  announcements ;  they  were  cynically  incredulous 
of  low  prices ;  they  knew  the  real  truth  as  to  fabrics  of 
freshness  unlasting  and  stuffs  wdiich  would  never  wear 
out;  and  as  regards  forced  sales,  fabulous  prices,  and 
incredible  bargains,  they  merely  lifted  the  eyelid  of  the 
scoffer  and  w^ent  into  the  workroom.  Whatever  was 
written  or  printed  on  bills  in  the  window,  no  difference 
was  ever  made  to  them.  Nor  did  the  rise  and  fall  of 
markets  alter  their  wages  one  penny.  This  lack  of  in- 
terest in  the  success  of  their  work  is  certainly  a  draw- 
back to  this  metier,  as  to  many  others.  Would  it  not 
be  well  if  workmen  of  all  kinds  were  directly  interested 
in  the  enterprise  for  which  they  hire  out  their  labor? 

If  you  have  the  curiosity  to  listen  to  the  talk  of  work- 
girls  in  the  evenings  wdien  they  v/alk  home,  or  as  they 
journey  homeward  slowly  in  the  crawling  omnibus,  j^ou 
will  be  struck  by  a  very  remarkable  phenomenon.  It  is 
not  that  they  talk  without  stopping,  because  that  is  com- 
mon to  5'outhful  woman  in  every  rank.  It  is  that  in 
the  evening  they  are  always  exasperated.  They  snap 
their  lips,  they  breathe  quick,  they  flash  their  eyes, 
they  clinch  their  fingers,  and  their  talk  is  a  narrative 
of  indignation  full  of  "sezee,"  "sezzi,"  and  "seshee" — ■ 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  125 

mostly  the  last,  because  what  "  she"  said  is  generally 
the  cause  of  all  this  wrath.  A  philosopher,  who  once 
investigated  the  subject,  was  fortunate  enough  to  dis- 
cover why  work-girls  are  always  angry  at  eventide. 
He  maintains  that  it  means  nothing  in  the  world  but 
nagging ; .  they  all,  he  says,  sit  together— forewomen, 
dressmakers,  improvers,  and  apprentices — in  one  room. 
The  room,  whether  large  or  small,  is  always  close,  the 
hours  are  long ;  as  they  sit  at  their  M'ork,  head  bent, 
back  bent,  feet  still,  they  gradually  get  the  fidgets. 
This  is  a  real  disease  while  it  lasts.  In  the  workroom 
it  has  got  to  last  until  the  time  to  knock  off.  First  it 
seizes  the  limbs,  so  that  the  younger  ones  want  to  get 
up  and  jump  and  dance,  while  tlie  other  ones  would 
like  to  kick.  If  not  relieved,  the  patient  next  gets  the 
fidgets  in  her  nerves,  so  that  she  wriggles  in  her  chair, 
gets  spasmodic  twitchings,  shakes  her  head  violently, 
and  bites  her  thread  with  viciousness.  The  next  step  is 
extreme  irritability;  this  is  followed  by  a  disposition 
on  the  part  of  the  forewoman  to  find  fault,  and  by  a 
determination  on  the  part  of  the  work-girls  not  to  be 
put  upon,  with  an  intention  of  speaking  up  should  the 
occasion  arise.  Then  comes  nagging,  which  is,  in 
fact,  nothing  but  fidgets  translated  into  English  prose. 
Some  forewomen  are  excellent  translators.  And  the 
end  is  general  exasperation,  with  fines,  notices  to  leave, 
warnings,  cheekiness,  retorts,  accusations,  charges,  de- 
nials, tears,  fault-findings,  sneers,  angry  words,  bitter 
things,  personal  reflections,  innuendos,  disrespect,  bul- 
lying, and  every  element  of  a  row-royal.  Conse- 
quently, when  the  girls  go  home  they  are  exasperated. 
^  We  know  how  Angela  proposed  to  prevent  the  out- 
break of  this  contagious  disorder  by  ventilation,  exer- 
cise, and  frequent  rests. 

She  took  her  place  among  the  girls,  and  worked  with 
them,  sitting  beside  Nelly  Sorensen,  who  was  to  have 
charge  of  the  workroom.  Rebekah,  with  Miss  Mes- 
senger's magnificent  order  on  her  mind,  sat  in  the 
showroom  waiting  for  visitors.  But  none  came  except 
Mrs.  Bormalack,  accompanied  by  her  ladyship,  who 
stepped  over  to  offer  their  congratulations  and  best 
wishes,  and  to  see  what  Miss  Messenger  was  going  to 
have. 


126  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  2IEN. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  first  two  hours'  pull  is 
beginning  to  be  felt  by  the  j^ounger  hands,  Angela  in- 
vited everybody  to  rest  for  hall  an  hour.  They  obeyed 
with  some  surprise,  and  followed  her  with  considerable 
suspicion,  as  if  some  mean  advantage  was  going  to  be 
taken  of  them,  some  trick  "  sprung"  upon  them. 

She  took  them  into  a  kind  of  court,  which  had  been 
the  back  garden,  paved  with  asphalt  and  provided  with 
nets,  rackets,  and  all  the  gear  for  lawn  tennis.  She 
invited  them  to  play  for  half  an  hour.  It  was  a  fine 
morning  in  early  September,  with  a  warm  sun,  a  bright 
sky,  and  a  cool  breeze — the  \qvj  day  for  lawn  tennis. 
The  girls,  however,  looked  at  the  machinery  and  then 
at  each  other,  and  showed  no  inclination  for  the  game. 
Then  Angela  led  the  way  into  the  great  glass-room, 
where  she  pointed  out  the  various  bars,  ropes,  and  posts 
which  she  had  provided  for  their  gymnastic  exercises. 
They  looked  at  each  other  again,  and  showed  a  disposi- 
tion to  giggle. 

They  were  seven  girls  in  all,  not  counting  Rebekah, 
who  remained  in  the  showroom ;  and  Nelly,  who  was 
a  little  older  than  the  rest,  stood  rather  apart.  The 
girls  were  not  unhealthy-looking,  being  all  quite  young, 
and  therefore  not  as  j^et  ruined  as  to  the  complexion  by 
gas  and  bad  air.  But  they  looked  dejected,  as  if  their 
work  had  no  charms  for  them — indeed,  one  can  hardly 
imagine  that  it  had — they  were  only  'surprised,  not 
elated,  at  the  half -hour's  recreation;  they  expected  that 
it  would  be  deducted  from  their  wages,  and  were  re- 
sentful. 

Then  Angela  made  them  a  speech.  She  said,  hand- 
ling a  racket  to  give  herself  confidence,  that  it  was 
highly  necessary  to  take  plenty  of  exercise  in  the  open 
air ;  that  she  was  sure  Avork  would  be  better  done  and 
more  quickly  done  if  the  fingers  did  not  get  too  tired ; 
therefore,  that  she  had  had  this  tennis-court  prepared 
for  them  and  the  gjmmasium  fitted  up,  so  that  they 
might  play  in  it  every  day.  And  then  selecting  Nelly 
and  two  others,  who  seemed  active  young  creatures, 
she  gave  them  their  first  lesson  in  lawn  tennis. 

The  next  day  she  gave  a  lesson  to  another  set.  In  a 
few  days  tennis  became  a  passion  with  the  girls.  The 
fashion    spread.       Lawn    tennis    is   not   an   expensive 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  127 

game ;  shortly  there  will  bo  no  bit  of  s(}iiare  garden  or 
vacant  space  in  Stepney  but  will  be  marked  out  into  its 
lawn-tennis  courts. 

The  gymnasium  took  longer  to  become  ])opular. 
Girls  do  not  like  feats  of  strength;  nor  was  it  until  the 
spell  of  wet  weather  last  October,  when  outdoor  games 
became  impossible,  that  the  gymnasium  began  to  at- 
tract at  all.  Then  a  spirit  of  emulation  was  set  up,  and 
bodily  exercises  became  popular.  After  becoming  quite 
sure  that  no  deduction  was  made  on  account  of  the  rest- 
ing time,  the  girls  ceased  to  bo  suspicious,  and  accepted 
the  gift  with  something  like  enthusiasm.  Yet,  Miss 
Kennedy  was  their  employer ;  therefore,  a  natural  ene- 
my; therefore,  gifts  from  her  continued,  for  some  time, 
to  be  received  with  dovibt  and  suspicion.  This  does 
not  seem,  on  the  whole,  a  healthy  outcome  of  our  social 
system ;  yet  such  an  attitude  is  unfortunately  common 
among  work-girls. 

At  half-past  eleven  they  all  resumed  work. 

At  one  o'clock  another  astonishment  awaited  them. 

Miss  Kennedy  informed  them  that  one  of  the  reforms 
introduced  by  her  was  the  providing  of  dinner  every 
day,  without  deducting  anA'thing  from  their  wages. 
Those  to  whom  dinner  was,  on  most  days,  the  mockery 
of  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter,  or  a  bun,  or  some  such 
figment  and  pretence  of  a  meal,  simply  gasped,  and  the 
stoutest  held  her  breath  for  a  while,  wondering  what 
these  things  might  mean. 

Yes,  there  was  dinner  laid  for  them  upstairs  on  a 
fair  white  cloth;  for  every  girl  a  plentiful  dish  of  beef 
with  potatoes  and  other  good  things,  and  a  glass  of  Mes- 
senger's Family  Ale — that  at  eight-and-six  the  nine- 
gallon  cask — and  bread  a  discretion.  Angela  would 
have  added  pudding,  but  was  dissuaded  by  her  fore- 
woman, on  the  ground  that  not  only  would  pudding 
swallow  up  too  much  of  the  profits,  but  that  it  would 
demoralize  the  girls.  As  it  was,  one  of  them,  at  the 
mere  aspect  and  first  contemplation  of-  the  beef,  fell  a- 
weeping.  She  Avas  lame,  and  she  was  the  most  dejected 
among  them  all.  Why  she  wept,  and  how  Angela  fol- 
lowed her  home,  and  what  that  home  was  like,  and  why 
she  and  her  mother  and  her  sisters  do  now  continually 
praise  and  pray  for  Angela,  belong  to  another  story. 


128  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

concerned  with  the  wretchedness  and  misery  which  are 
found  at  Whitechapel  and  Stepne}^,  as  well  as  in  Soho 
and  Marylebone  and  the  back  of  Regent  Street.  I  shall 
not  write  man}'  chapters  of  that  story,  for  my  own  part. 

Truly  a  most  wonderful  workshop.  Was  ever  such 
an  association  of  dressmakers? 

After  dinner  they  frolicked  and  romped,  though  as 
yet  in  an  untaught  way,  until  two,  when  they  began 
work  again. 

Miss  Kennedy  then  made  them  another  speech. 

She  told  them  that  the  success  of  their  enterprise  de- 
pended in  great  measure  upon  their  own  industry,  skill, 
and  energy;  that  they  were  all  interested  in  it,  because 
they  were  to  receive,  besides  their  wages,  a  share  in  the 
profits ;  this  they  only  partly  understood .  Nor  did  they 
comprehend  her  scheme  much  more  when  she  went  on 
to  exi)lain  that  tliey  had  the  house  and  all  the  prelimi- 
nary furniture  found  for  them,  so  that  there  would  be 
nothing,  at  first,  to  pay  for  rent.  They  had  never  con- 
sidered the  question  of  rent,  and  the  thing  did  not  go 
home  to  them.  But  they  saw  in  some  vague  way  that 
here  was  an  employer  of  a  kind  ver}^  much  unlike  any 
they  had  ever  before  experienced,  and  they  were  aston- 
ished and  excited. 

Later  on,  when  the}'  might  be  getting  tired  again, 
they  had  a  visitor.  It  was  no  other  than  Captain  So- 
rensen.  He  said  that  by  permission  of  Miss  Kennedy 
he  would  read  to  them  for  an  hour,  and  that,  if  she  per- 
mitted and  they  liked,  as  he  was  an  old  man  with  noth- 
ing to  do,  he  would  come  and  read  to  them  often. 

So  this  astonishing  day  passed  on. 

They  had  tea  at  five,  with  another  half-hour's  rest. 
As  the  evening  was  so  fine,  it  was  served  in  the  garden. 

At  seven  they  found  that  it  was  time  to  strike  work — 
an  hour  at  least  earlier  than  at  any  other  house.  What 
could  these  things  mean? 

And  then  fresh  marvels.  For  when  the  work  was 
put  away.  Miss  Kenned}^  invited  them  all  to  follow  her 
upstairs.  There  she  formally  presented  them  with  a 
room  for  their  own  use  in  the  evening  if  they  pleased. 
There  was  a  piano  in  it;  but,  unfortunately,  nobody 
could  play.  The  floor  was  polished  for  dancing,  but 
then  no  one  could  dance;  and  there  was  a  table  with 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIO XS  OF  MEN.  139 

games  upon  it,  and  magazines  and  illustrated  papers. 
In  this  room,  Miss  Kenned}'  told  them,  they  could  sing, 
dance,  play,  read,  talk,  sit,  or  do  anything  else  in  rea- 
son, and  within  the  limits  of  modest  recreation.  They 
might  also,  on  Saturday  evenings,  bring  their  friends, 
brothers,  and  so  forth,  who  would  also  be  expected  to 
behave  within  the  limits  of  modesty  and  good  breeding. 
In  short,  the  place  was  to  be  a  drawing-room,  and  An- 
gela proposed  to  train  the  girls  by  example  and  precept 
into  a  proper  feeling  as  regards  the  use  of  a  drawing- 
room.  There  was  to  be  no  giggling,  no  whispering  in 
corners,  nor  was  there  to  be  any  horseplay.  Good  man- 
ners lie  between  horseplay  on  the  one  hand  and  gig- 
gling on  the  other. 

The  kind  of  evening  proposed  by  their  wonderful 
mistress  struck  the  girls  at  first  with  a  kind  of  stupe- 
faction. Outside,  the  windows  being  open,  they  could 
hear  the  steps  of  those  who  walked,  talked,  and  laughed 
on  Stepney  Green.  They  would  have  preferred  to  be 
among  that  throng  of  idle  promenaders;  it  seemed  to 
them  a  more  beautiful  thing  to  walk  up  and  dovv  n  the 
paths  than  to  sit  about  in  a  room  and  be  told  to  plav. 
There  were  no  young  men.  There  was  the  continual 
presence  of  their  employer.  They  were  afraid  of  her; 
there  was  also  Miss  Hermitage,  of  whom  also  they  were 
afraid;  there  was,  in  addition,  Miss  Sorensen,  of 'whom 
they  might  learn  to  be  afraid.  As  for  Miss  Kennedy, 
they  were  the  more  afraid  of  her  because  not  only  did 
she  walk,  talk,  and  look  like  a  person  out  of  another 
w^orld,  but,  oh,  wonderful!  she  knew  nothing — evi- 
dently nothing — of  their  little  tricks.  Naturally  one  is 
afraid  of  a  person  who  knows  nothing  of  one's  wicked 
ways.  This  is  the  awkwardness  in  entertaining  angels. 
They  naturally  assume  that  their  entertainers  stand  on 
the  same  elevated  level  as  themselves ;  this  causes  em- 
barrassment. Most  of  us,  like  Angela's  shop-girls, 
would,  under  the  circumstances,  betray  a  tendency  to 
giggle. 

Then  she  tried  to  relieve  them  from  their  awkward- 
ness by  sitting  down  to  the  piano  and  playing  a  lively 
galop. 

"Dance,  girls,"  she  cried. 

In  their  early  childhood,  before  they  went  to  school 
9 


130  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

or  workshop,  the  girls  had  been  accustomed  to  a  good 
deal  of  dancing.  Their  ballroom  was  the  street;  their 
floor  was  the  curbstone ;  their  partners  had  been  other 
little  girls;  their  music  the  organ-grinder's.  They 
danced  with  no  step  but  such  as  came  by  nature,  but  their 
little  feet  struck  true  and  kept  good  time.  Now  they 
were  out  of  practice;  they  were  grown  big,  too;  they 
could  no  longer  seize  each  other  by  the  waist  and  caper 
round  and  round.  Yet  the  music  was  inspiriting;  eyes 
brightened,  their  heels  became  as  light  as  air.  Yet, 
alas !  they  did  not  know  the  steps. 

Angela  stopped  playing  and  looked  round  her.  The 
girls  were  crowded  together. 

Rebekah  Hermitage  sat  apart  at  the  table.  There 
was  that  in  her  face  which  betokened  disapproval,  min- 
gled with  curiosity,  for  she  had  never  seen  a  dance, 
and  never,  except  on  a  barrel-organ,  heard  dance  mus'C. 
Nelly  Sorensen  stood  beside  the  piano  watching  the 
player  with  the  devotion  which  belongs  to  the  disciple 
who  loves  the  most.  Whatever  Miss  Kennedy  did  was 
right  and  sweet  and  beautiful.  Also,  whatever  she  did 
filled  poor  Nelly  with  a  sense  of  humiliation,  because 
she  herself  felt  so  ignorant. 

"Rebekah!  Nelly!"  cried  Angela.  "Can  you  not 
help  me?" 

Both  shook  their  heads. 

"I  cannot  dance,"  said  Rebekah,  trjnng  to  show  a 
little  scorn,  or,  at  least,  some  disapprobation.  "  In  our 
Connection  we  never  dance." 

"  You  never  dance?"  Angela  forgot  for  the  moment 
that  she  was  in  Stepney,  and  among  a  class  of  girls 
who  do  not  dance.     "  Do  you  sing?" 

"  If  any  is  merry, "  replied  Rebekah,  "  let  him  sing 
hymns. " 

"  Nelly,  can  you  help  me?" 

She,  too,  shook  her  head.  But,  she  said,  "her  father 
could  play  the  fiddle.     Might  he  come?" 

Angela  begged  her  to  invite  him  immediately,  and 
on  her  way  to  ask  Mr.  Goslett,  at  Mrs.  Bormalack's, 
to  bring  his  fiddle  too.  Between  them  they  would  teach 
the  girls  to  dance. 

Then  she  sat  down  and  began  to  sing.  First  she 
sang,  "  By  the  Banks  of  Allen  Water,"  and  then  "  The 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  131 

Bailiff's  Dangliter  of  Islington,"  and  next,  "  Drink  to  me 
only  with  thine  eyes" — sweet  and  simple  ditties  all. 
Then  came  Captain  Sorensen,  bearing  his  fiddle,  and 
happy  to  help,  and  while  he  plaj'ed,  Angela  stood  all  the 
girls  in  a  row  before  her,  headed  by  Nelly,  and  gave 
them  their  first  lesson  in  the  giddy  dance. 

Then  came  Harrj'  Goslett,  and  at  the  sight  of  his 
cheerful  countenance  and  at  the  mere  beholding  how  he 
bowed  to  Miss  Kennedy,  and  asked  to  be  allowed,  and 
put  his  arm  round  her  waist  and  whirled  her  round  in 
a  galop,  their  hearts  were  lifted  up,  and  thej'  longed  no 
more  for  Stepney  Green.  Then  he  changed  Miss  Ken- 
nedy for  Nelly ;  and  though  she  was  awkward  at  first, 
she  soon  fell  into  the  step,  while  Miss  Kennedy  danced 
with  another;  and  then  Mr.  Goslett  with  another,  and 
so  on  till  all  had  had  a  practical  lesson.  Then  they 
ceased  altogether  to  long  for  the  jest  of  the  gallant 
'prentice;  for  what  were  jests  to  this  manly,  masterful 
seizure  by  the  waist,  this  lifting  almost  off  the  feet,  this 
whirl  round  and  round  to  the  music  of  the  fiddle  which 
the  brave  old  captain  plaj^ed  as  merrily  as  any  bo's'n's 
mate  or  quartermaster  on  an  East  Indiaman?  In  half 
an  hour  the  feet  of  all  but  one — the  one  who,  poor  girl, 
was  lame — felt  that  noble  sj'mpathy  with  the  music  so 
readily  caught  by  those  intelligent  organs,  and — they 
could  dance.  Perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  the  annals 
of  Stepney,  her  daughters  had  learned  to  dance. 

The  rest  would  be  easy.  They  tried  a  quadrille,  then 
another  galop.  Harry  endeavored  to  do  his  duty,  but 
there  were  some  who  remarked  that  he  danced  twice, 
that  second  galop,  with  Nelly  Sorensen,  and  they  wei-e 
jealous.  Yet  it  was  only  an  unconscious  tribute  paid 
to  beauty.  The  young  fellow  was  among  a  bevy  of 
dressmakers ;  an  uncommon  position  for  a  man  of  his 
bringing-up.  One  of  them,  somehow,  was,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, and  to  any  but  perhaps  the  most  practised 
eye,  a  real  genuine  lad}" — not  a  copy  at  all;  the  other 
was  so  graceful  and  sweet  that  she  seemed  to  want  l)Ut 
a  touch  to  effect  the  transformation.  As  for  the  other 
girls,  they  were  simple  3'oung  persons  of  the  workroom 
and  counter — a  common  type.  So  common,  alas  I  that 
we  are  apt  to  forget  the  individuality  of  each,  her  per- 
sonal hopes,  and  her  infinite  possibilities.     Yet,  how- 


132  ALL  SORTS  AND  COyDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

ever  insignificant  is  the  crowd,  the  individual  is  so 
important. 

Then  he  was  interested  in  the  dark-eyed  girl  who  sat 
hj  herself  at  the  table,  looking  on,  anxiously,  at  an 
amusement  she  had  always  heard  of  as  "  soul-destroy- 
ing." She  was  wondering  why  her  ears  were  pleased 
with  the  playing,  and  why  her  brain  was  filled  with 
strange  images,  and  wh}'  it  was  so  pleasant  to  watch 
the  girls  dancing,  their  eyes  aglow  and  their  cheeks 
flushed. 

"Do  not  tempt  me,"  she  said,  when  Harry  ventured 
to  invite  her,  too,  to  join  the  giddy  throng.  "  Do  not 
tempt  me — no — go  away !" 

Her  very  brusqueness  showed  how  strong  was  the 
temptation.  Was  she,  already,  giving  way  to  the  first 
temptation  ':* 

Presently  the  evening  was  over,  the  girls  had  all 
trooped  noisil}'  out  of  the  house,  and  Angela,  Captain 
Sorensen,  Nelly,  and  the  young  workman  were  walk- 
ing across  the  green  in  the  direction  of  the  Almshouse. 

When  Angela  got  home  to  the  boarding-house  the 
dreariness  of  the  evening  was  in  full  blast.  The  board- 
ers were  sitting  in  silence,  each  wrapped  in  his  own 
thoughts.  The  professor  lifted  his  head  as  she  entered 
the  room,  and  regarded  her  with  thoughtful  eyes,  as  if 
appraising  her  worth  as  a  cluinoyante.  Dcivid  Fagg 
scowled  horribly.  His  lordship  opened  his  mouth  as  if 
to  speak,  but  said  nothing.  Mr.  Maliphant  took  his 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  began  a  story.  "  I  remem- 
ber," he  said,  "the  last  time  but  one  that  he  was 
ruined" — he  did  not  state  the  name  of  the  gentleman — 
"  the  whole  town  was  on  fire,  and  his  house  with  them. 
What  did  he  do?  Mounted  his  horse  and  rode  around, 
and  bought  up  all  the  timber  for  twenty  miles  around. 
And  see  what  he's  worth  now !"  When  he  had  told 
this  story  he  relapsed  into  silence.  Angela  thought  of 
that  casual  collection  of  unsj^mpathetic  animals  put  into 
a  cage  and  called  a  "  Happy  Family." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  133 

CHAPTER   XII. 

SUNDAY   AT   THE   EAST   EXD. 

Sunday  morning  in  and  about  the  Whitechapel  and 
Mile  End  roads  Angela  discovered  to  be  a  time  of  pe- 
culiar interest.     The  closing  of  the  shops  adds  to  the 
dignity  of  the  broad  thoroughfares,  because  it  hides  so 
many  disagreeable  and  even  humiliating  things.     But 
it  by  no  means  puts  a  stop  to  traffic,  Avhich  is  conducted 
with   an   ostentatious   disregard   of   the  Fourth   Com- 
mandment or  Christian  custom.     At  one  end,  the  city 
end,  IS  Houndsditch,  crowded  with  men  who  come  to 
buy  and  sell;  and  while  the  bells  of  St.  Botolph  call 
upon  the  faithful  with  a  clanging  and  clashing  which 
ring  like  a  cry  of  despair,  the  footpath  is  filled  with  the 
busy  loungers,  who  have  long  since  ceased  to  regard 
the  invitation  as  having  anything  at  all  to  do  with  them. 
Strange  and  wonderful  result  of  the  gathering  of  men 
in  great  cities !     It  is  not  a  French,  or  an  English,  or  a 
German,  or  an  American   result — it  is  universal.    In 
every  great  city  of  the  world,  below  a  certain  level, 
there  is  no  religion— men  have  grown  dead  to  their 
higher  instincts;  they  no  longer  feel  the  possibilities  of 
humanity ;  faith  brings  to  them  no  more  the  evidence 
of  things  unsecA.     They  are  crowded  together,  so  that 
they  have  ceased  to  feel  their  individuality.    The  crowd 
is  eternal— they  are  part  of  that  eternitv ;  if  one  drops 
out,  he  is  not  missed ;  nobody  considers" that  it  will  be 
his  own  turn  some  day  so  to  drop  out.     Life  is  nothing 
for  ever  and  ever,  but  work  in  the  week  with  as  much 
beer  and  tobacco  as  the  money  will  run  to,  and  loafing 
on  Sundaj's  with  more  beer  and  tobacco.     This,  my 
friends,  is  a  truly  astonishing  thing,  and  a  thing  un- 
known until  this  century.     Perhaps,  however,  in  ancient 
Kome  the  people  had  ceased  to  believe  in  their  gods ; 
perhaps,  in   Babylon,  the  sacred   bricks  were   kicked 
about  by  the  unthinking  mob;  perhaps,  in  everv  great 
city,  the   same   loss   of   individual   manhood   liiav   be 
found. 

It  was  on  a  Sunday  morning  in  August  that  Angela 


134  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

took  a  little  journey  of  exploration,  accompanied  by  the 
yoimg  workman  who  was  her  companion  in  these  ex- 
cursions. He  led  her  into  Houndsditch  and  the  Minor- 
ics,  where  she  had  the  pleasure  of  inspecting  the  great 
mercantile  interest  of  old  clothes,  and  of  gazing  upon 
such  as  buy  and  sell  therein.  Then  she  turned  her  face 
northward,  and  entered  upon  a  journey  which  twenty 
j^ears  ago  would  have  been  full  of  peril,  and  is  now,  to 
one  who  loves  his  fellow-man,  full  of  interest. 

The  great  boulevard  of  the  East  was  thronged  with 
the  class  of  men  who  keep  the  Sabbath  in  holy  laziness 
Avith  tobacco.  Some  of  them  lounge,  some  talk,  some 
listen,  all  have  pipes  in  their  mouths.  Here  was  a  cir- 
cle gathered  round  a  man  who  was  waving  his  arm's 
and  shouting.  He  was  an  Apostle  of  Temperance; 
behind  him  stood  a  few  of  his  private  friends  to  act  as 
a  claque.  The  listeners  seemed  amused  but  not  con- 
vinced. "The}^  will  probabl}^"  said  Harr3S  "  enjoy 
their  dinner  beer  quite  as  much  as  if  the3^had  not  heard 
this  sermon."  Another  circle  was  gathered  round  a 
man  in  a  cart,  who  had  a  flaming  red  flag  to  support 
him.  He  belonged,  the  flag  told  the  world,  to  the 
Tower  Hamlets  Magna  Charta  Association.  What  he 
said  was  listened  to  with  the  same  languid  curiosity 
and  tepid  amusement.  Angela  stopped  a  moment  to 
hear  Avhat  he  had  to  say.  He  was  detailing,  with  im- 
mense energy,  the  particulars  of  some  awful  act  of  in- 
justice committed  upon  a  friend  unknown,  who  got  six 
months.  The  law  of  England  is  always  trampling 
upon  some  innocent  victim,  according  to  this  sympa- 
thizer with  virtue.  The  working-men  have  heard  it 
all  before,  and  they  continue  to  smoke  their  pipes,  their 
blood  not  quickened  b}'  a  single  beat.  The  ear  of  the 
people  is  accustomed  to  vehemence ;  the  case  must  be 
put  strongly  before  it  will  listen  at  all ;  and  listening, 
as  most  brawlers  discover,  is  not  conviction. 

Next  to  the  Magna  Charta  brethren  a  cheap-jack 
had  placed  his  cart.  He  drove  a  roaring  trade  in  two- 
penn'orths,  which,  out  of  compliment  to  a  day  which 
should  be  devoted  to  good  works,  consisted  each  of  a 
bottle  of  sarsaparilla,  which  he  called  "sassaple,"  and  a 
box  of  pills.  Next  to  him  the  costers  stood  beside  their 
carts  loaded  with  cheap  ices,  ginger-beer,  and  lemonade 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  135 

— to  show  that  there  was  no  deception,  a  great  glass  jar 
stood  upon  each  cart  with  actual  undeniable  slices  of 
lemon  floating  in  water  and  a  lump  of  ice  upon  the  top ; 
there  were  also  piles  of  plums,  plums  without  end,  early 
August  apples,  and  windfall  pears;  also  sweet  things 
in  foot-long  lumps  sticky  and  gruesome  to  look  upon ; 
Brazil  nuts,  also  a  favorite  article  of  commerce  in  cer- 
tain circles,  though  not  often  met  with  at  the  tables  of 
the  luxurious;  late  oranges,  more  plums,  many  more 
plums,  plums  in  enormous  quantities;  and  periwin- 
kles, which  last  all  the  year  round,  with  whelks  and 
vinegar,  and  the  toothsome  shrimp.  Then  there  came 
another  circle,  and  in  the  midst  stood  a  3'oung  man 
with  long  fair  hair  and  large  blue  eyes.  He  was 
preaching  the  Gospel,  as  he  understood  it;  his  face 
was  the  face  of  an  enthusiast :  a  little  solitude,  a  little 
meditation  among  the  mountains,  would  have  made 
this  man  a  seer  of  visions  and  a  dreamer  of  dreams. 
He  was  not  ridiculous,  though  his  grammar  was  defec- 
tive and  his  pronunciation  had  the  cockney  twang  and 
his  aspirates  were  wanting ;  nothing  is  ridiculous  that 
is  in  earnest.  On  the  right  of  the  street  they  had 
passed  the  headquarters  of  the  Salvation  Army;  the 
brave  warriors  were  now  in  full  blast,  and  the  fighting, 
"knee-drill,"  singing,  and  storming  of  the  enemy's  fort 
were  at  their  highest  and  most  enjoj^able  point ;  Angela 
looked  in  and  found  an  immense  hall  crammed  with 
people  who  came  to  fight,  or  look  on,  to  scotf,  or  gaze. 
Higher  up,  on  the  left,  stands  a  rival  in  red-hot  relig- 
ion, the  Hall  of  the  Jubilee  Singers,  where  another  vast 
crowd  was  worshipping,  exhorting,  and  singing. 

"  There  seems, "  said  Angela,  "  to  be  too  much  exhort- 
ing; can  the}^  not  sit  down  somewhere  in  quiet  for 
praise  and  praj'er?" 

"We  working-people,''  replied  her  comj)anion,  "like 
ever3'thing  loud  and  strong.  If  we  are  persuaded  to 
take  a  side,  we  want  to  be  alwaj's  fighting  on  that  side." 

Streams  of  people  passed  them,  lounging  or  walking 
with  a  steady  purpose.  The  former  were  the  indiffer- 
ent and  the  callous,  the  hardened  and  the  stupid,  men 
to  whom  preachers  and  orators  appealed  in  vain;  to 
whom  Peter  the  Hermit  might  have  bawled  himself 
hoarse,  and   Bernard  would  have  thrown  all  his  elo- 


136  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

quonce  away;  they  smoked  short  pipes,  with  their 
hands  in  their  pockets,  and  looked  good-tempered ;  with 
them  were  boys,  also  smoking  short  pipes,  with  their 
hands  in  their  pockets.  Those  who  walked  were  young 
men  dressed  in  long  frock-coats  of  a  shiny  and  lustrous 
black,  who  carried  Bibles  and  prayer-books  with  some 
ostentation.  They  "svere  on  their  way  to  church ;  with 
them  were  their  sisters,  for  the  most  part  well-dressed, 
quiet  girls,  to  whom  the  noise  and  the  crowds  wore  a 
part  of  life — a  thing  not  to  be  avoided,  hardly  felt  as  a 
trouble, 

"  I  am  always  getting  a  new  sensation, "  said  Angela. 

'•'What  is  the  last  v" 

"  I  have  just  realized  that  there  are  thousands  and 
thousands  of  ]jeople  who  never,  all  their  lives,  get  to  a 
place  where  they  can  be  (piiet.  Always  noise,  always 
crowds,  always  buying  and  selling." 

"  Here,  at  least,"  said  Harry,  "there  is  no  noise."  . 

They  were  at  the  wicket-gate  of  the  Trinity  Alms- 
house. 

"What  do  you  think,  Miss  Kennedy?" 

"It  is  a  haven  of  rest,"  she  replied,  thinking  of  a  cer- 
tain picture.     ''  Let  us,  too,  seek  peace  awhile." 

It  was  just  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  beadsmen  were 
going  to  their  chapel.  They  entered  the  square,  and 
joined  the  old  men  in  their  weekly  service.  Angela 
discovered,  to  her  disapix)intment,  that  the  splendid 
flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  magnificent  portal  was  a 
dummy,  because  the  real  entrance  to  the  chapel  was 
a  lowly  door  beneath  the  stone  steps,  suited,  Mr.  Bunker 
would  have  said,  to  the  humble  condition  of  the  money- 
less. 

It  is  a  plain  chapel,  with  a  small  organ  in  the  corner, 
a  tiny  altar,  and  over  the  altar  the  ten  commandments 
in  a  black  wood  frame — rules  of  life  for  those  whose 
life  is  well-nigh  done — and  a  pulpit,  which  serves  for 
reading  the  service  as  well  as  delivering  the  sermon. 
Tlie  congregation  consisted  of  about  thirty  of  the  alms- 
men, with  about  half  as  many  old  ladies;  and  Angela 
wondered  why  these  old  ladies  were  all  dressed  in  black, 
and  all  wore  crape.  Perhaps  they  desired  by  the  use 
of  this  material  to  symbolize  mourning  for  the  loss  of 
opportunities  for  making  money;  or  for  the  days  of 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  137 

beauty  and  courtship,  or  for  children  dead  and  gone,  or 
to  mark  the  humility  which  becomes  an  inmate,  or  to 
do  honor  to  the  day  which  is  still  revered  by  many 
Englishwomen  as  a  day  of  humiliation  and  rebuke, 
or  in  the  belief  that  crape  confers  dignity.  We  know 
not,  we  know  nothing ;  the  love  which  women  bear  for 
crape  is  a  mystery ;  man  can  but  speculate  idly  on  their 
ways.  We  are  like  the  philosopher  picking  up  pebbles 
by  the  seaside.  Among  the  old  people  sat  Nelly  S(jren- 
sen,  a  flower  of  youth  and  loveliness,  in  her  simj^ile 
black  dress,  and  her  light  hair  breaking  out  beneath 
her  bonnet.  The  Catholics  believe  that  no  church  is 
complete  without  a  bone  of  some  dead  saint  or  beati- 
fied person.  Angela  made  up  her  mind,  on  the  spot, 
that  no  act  of  public  worship  is  complete  without  the 
assistance  of  youth  as  well  as  of  age. 

The  men  were  all  dressed  alike  in  blue  coats  and 
brass  buttons,  the  uniform  of  the  place;  they  seemed 
all,  with  the  exception  of  one  who  was  battered  by  time, 
and  was  fain  to  sit  while  the  rest  stood,  to  be  of  the 
same  age,  and  that  might  be  anything  between  a  hearty 
sixty-five  and  a  vigorous  eighty.  After  the  manner  of 
sailors,  they  were  all  exact  in  the  performance  of  their 
share  in  public  worship,  following  the  prayers  in  the 
book  and  the  lessons  in  the  Bible.  When  the  time 
came  for  listening  they  straightened  themselves  out,  in 
an  attitude  comfortable  for  listening.  The  Scotch  elder 
assumes,  during  the  sermon,  the  air  of  a  hostile  critic; 
the  face  of  the  British  rustic  becomes  vacant ;  the  eyes 
of  the  ordinary  listener  in  church  show  that  his 
thoughts  are  far  away,  but  the  expression  of  a  sailor's 
face,  while  he  is  performing  the  duty — part  of  the 
day's  duty — of  listening  to  the  sermon,  shows  respect- 
ful attention,  although  he  may  have  heard  it  all  before. 

Angela  did  not  listen  much  to  the  sermon :  she  was 
thinking  of  the  old  men  for  whom  that  sermon  was  pre- 
pared. There  was  a  fresh  color  upon  their  faces,  as  if 
it  was  not  so  very  long  since  their  cheeks  had  been 
fanned  by  the  strong  sea-breeze ;  their  eyes  were  clear, 
they  possessed  the  bearing  which  comes  of  the  habit  of 
command,  and  they  carried  themselves  as  if  they  were 
not  ashamed  of  their  poverty.  Now  Bunker,  Angela 
reflected,  would   have   been  very  much  ashamed,  and 


138  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

would  have  hung  his  head  in  shame.  But  then  Bun- 
ker was  one  of  the  nimble-footed  hunters  after  money, 
while  these  ignoble  persons  had  contented  themselves 
with  the  simple  and  slavish  record  of  duty  done. 

The  service  over,  they  w^ere  joined  by  Captain  Soren- 
sen  and  his  daughter,  and  for  half  an  hour  walked  in 
the  quiet  court  behind  the  church,  in  peaceful  converse. 
Angela  walked  with  the  old  man,  and  Nell}"  with  the 
young  man.  It  niiitters  little  what  thej'  talked  about, 
but  it  was  something  good,  because  when  the  Captain 
went  home  to  his  dinner  he  kissed  his  daughter,  and 
said  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  the  best  day's  work 
he  ever  did  when  he  let  her  go  to  Miss  Kennedy. 

In  the  evening  Angela  made  another  journey  of  ex- 
ploration with  the  same  escort.  They  passed  down 
Stepney  Green,  and  plunged  among  the  labyrinth  of 
streets  lying  between  the  Mile  End  Road  and  the 
Thames.  It  is  as  unlovely  a  collection  of  houses  as 
may  be  found  anywhere,  always  excepting  Hoxton, 
which  may  fairly  be  considered  the  Queen  of  Unloveli- 
ness.  The  houses  in  this  part  are  small,  and  they  are 
almost  all  of  one  pattern.  There  is  no  green  thing  to 
be  seen ;  no  one  plants  trees,  there  seem  to  be  no  gar- 
dens; no  flowers  are  in  the  windows;  there  is  no  bright- 
ness of  paint  or  of  clean  windows;  there  iy  nothing  of 
joy,  nothing  to  gladden  the  eye. 

"Think,"  said  Harr}",  almost  in  a  whisper,  as  if  in 
liomage  to  the  Powers  of  Dirt  and  Dreariness,  "  thiiik 
what  this  people  could  be  made  if  we  could  only  carry 
out  your  scheme  of  the  Palace  of  Delight." 

"  We  could  make  them  discontented,  at  least, "  said 
Angela.     "  Discontent  must  come  before  reform." 

"  We  should  leave  them  to  reform  themselves, "  said 
Harry.  "  The  mistake  of  philanthropists  is  to  think 
that  they  can  do  for  people  what  can  only  be  done  by 
the  people.  As  you  said  this  morning,  there  is  too 
much  exhorting." 

Presently  the}^  struck  out  of  a  street  rather  more 
dreary  than  its  neighbors,  and  found  themselves  in  a 
broad  road  with  a  great  church. 

"This  is  Limehouse  Church,"  said  Harr3^  "All 
round  you  are  sailors.  There  is  East  India  Dock  Road. 
Here  is  West  India  Dock  Road.     There  is  the  Foreign 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  139 

Sailors'  Home;  and  we  will  go  no  farther,  if  you  please, 
because  the  streets  are  all  full,  you  perceive,  of  the  for- 
eign sailors  and  the  English  sailors  and  the  sailors' 
friends." 

Angela  had  seen  enough  of  the  sailors.  They  turned 
back.  Harry  led  her  through  another  labyrinth  into 
another  broad  street,  also  crowded  with  sailors. 

"This  is  Shad  well,"  said  her  guide;  "and  if  there  is 
anything  in  Shadwell  to  interest  you,  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is.     Survey  Shadwell !" 

Angela  looked  up  the  street  and  down  the  street; 
there  was  nothing  for  the  eye  in  search  of  the  beautiful 
or  the  picturesque  to  rest  upon.  But  a  great  bawling 
of  rough  voices  came  from  a  great  tent  stuck  up,  oddl}-, 
beside  the  road.  A  white  canvas  sheet  with  black  let- 
ters proclaimed  this  as  the  place  of  worship  of  the 
"Happy  Gypsies."  They  were  holding  their  Sunday 
Function. 

"  More  exhorting !"  said  Angela. 

"Now,  this,"  he  said,  as  they  walked  along,  "is  a 
more  interesting  place.  It  used  to  be  called  Ratcliffe 
Highway,  and  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  wicked- 
est place  in  London.  I  dare  say  it  was  all  brag,  and 
that  really  it  was  not  much  worse  than  its  neighbors." 

It  is  a  distincth'  squalid  street,  that  now  called  St. 
George's-in-the-East.  But  it  has  its  points;  it  is  pic- 
turesque, like  a  good  many  dirty  places ;  the  people  are 
good-tempered,  though  they  do  not  wash  their  faces 
even  on  Sundays.  They  have  quite  left  off  knocking 
down,  picking  pockets,  kicking,  and  robbing  the  harm- 
less stranger;  they  are  advancing  slowly  toward  civil- 
ization. 

"  Come  this  waj',"  said  Harry. 

He  pasvsed  through  a  narrow  passage,  and  led  the  way 
into  a  place  at  the  sight  of  which  Angela  was  fain  to 
cry  out  in  surprise. 

In  it  was  nothing  less  than  a  fair  and  gracious  gar- 
den planted  with  flowers,  and  these  in  the  soft  August 
sunshine  showed  sweet  and  lovely.  The  beds  were  well 
kept ;  the  walks  were  of  asphalt ;  there  were  seats  set 
about,  and  on  them  old  women  and  old  men  sat  basking 
in  the  evening  sun.  .The  young  men  and  maidens 
walked  along  the  paths — an  Arcadian  scene. 


140  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN. 

"  This  little  strip  of  Eden,"  said  Harry,  "  was  cut  out 
of  the  old  church-yard." 

The  rest  of  the  church-yard  was  divided  from  the  gar- 
den by  a  railing,  and  round  the  wall  were  the  tomb- 
stones of  the  departed  obscure.  From  the  church  itself 
was  heard  the  rolling  of  the  organ  and  the  soft  singing 
of  a  hymn. 

"  This,"  said  Angela,  "  is  better  than  exhortation.  A 
garden  for  meditation  and  the  church  for  prayer.  I  like 
this  place  better  than  the  Whitechapel  Road." 

"1  will  show  you  a  more  quiet  place  still,"  said  her 
guide.  They  walked  a  little  way  farther  down  the 
main  street;  then  he  turned  into  a  narrow  street  on  the 
north,  and  Angela  found  herself  in  a  scjuare  of  clean 
houses  round  an  inclosure  of  grass.  Within  the  inclos- 
ure  was  a  chapel,  and  tombs  were  dotted  on  the  grass. 

They  went  into  the  chapel,  a  plain  edifice  of  the 
Georgian  kind  with  round  windows,  and  the  evening 
sun  shone  through  the  window  in  the  west.  The  high 
pews  were  occupied  by  a  congregation  of  forty  or  fifty, 
all  men.  They  all  had  light-brown  hair,  and  as  they 
turned  round  to  look  at  the  new-comers,  Angela  saw 
that  they  all  had  blue  eyes.  The  preacher,  who  wore 
a  black  gown  and  bands,  was  similarly  provided  as  to 
hair  and  eyes.  He  preached  in  a  foreign  tongue,  and 
as  it  is  difficult  to  be  edified  by  a  sermon  not  in  one's 
native  speech,  they  shortly  went  out  again.  They  were 
followed  by  the  verger,  who  seemed  not  indisposed  to 
break  the  monotony  of  the  service  by  a  few  minutes' 
walk. 

He  talked  English  imperfectly,  but  he  told  them  that 
it  was  the  church  of  the  Swedes.  Angela  asked  if 
they  were  all  sailors.  He  said,  with  some  seeming 
contempt  for  sailors,  that  only  a  few  of  them  were  sail- 
ors. She  then  said  that  she  supposed  the}"  \A'ere  people 
engaged  in  trade.  He  shook  his  head  again,  and  in- 
formed her  with  a  mj'sterious  air  that  many  of  the 
Swedish  nobility  lived  in  that  neighborhood.  After 
this  they  came  away,  for  fear  of  greater  surprises. 

They  followed  St.  George' s-in-the-East  to  the  end  of 
the  street.  Then  they  turned  to  the  right,  and  passed 
through  a  straight  and  quite  ignoble  road  leading  north. 
It  is  a  street  greatly  affected  by  Germans.     German 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  141 

names  are  over  every  shop  and  on  every  brass  i^late. 
They  come  hither,  these  honest  Germans,  because  to 
get  good  work  in  London  is  better  than  going  after  it 
to  New  York  or  Philadelphia,  and  nearer  home.  In 
the  second  generation  their  names  will  be  Anglicized, 
and  their  children  will  have  become  rich  London  mer- 
chants, and  very  likely  Cabinet  ministers.  They  have 
their  churches,  too,  the  Reformed  and  the  Lutheran, 
with  nothing  to  choose  between  them  on  the  score  of 
ugliness. 

•'  Let  us  get  home, "  said  Angela ;  "  I  have  seen 
enough." 

"  It  is  the  joylessness  of  the  life,"  she  explained,  "the 
ignorant,  contented  joylessness,  which  w^eighs  upon 
one.  And  there  is  so  much  of  it.  Surel}^  there  is  no 
other  city  in  the  world  which  is  so  utterly  without  joy 
as  this  East  London." 

"No,"  said  Harrj^  "there  is  not  in  the  whole  world 
a  city  so  devoid  of  pleasant  things.  The}--  do  not  know 
how  to  be  happy.  They  are  like  your  work-girls  when 
you  told  them  to  dance." 

"  Look!"  she  cried,  "what  is  that?" 

There  was  a  hoarse  roar  of  many  voices  from  a  court 
leading  out  of  the  main  road;  the  roar  became  louder; 
Harry  drew  the  girl  aside  as  a  mob  of  men  and  boys 
and  women  rushed  headlong  out  of  the  place.  It  was 
not  a  fight  apparently,  yet  there  was  beating  with  sticks 
and  kicking.  For  those  who  were  beaten  did  not  strike 
back  in  return.  After  a  little  the  beaters  and  kickers 
desisted,  and  returned  to  their  court  as  to  a  stronghold 
whose  rights  they  had  vindicated. 

Those  who  had  been  beaten  were  a  band  of  about  a 
dozen,  men  and  women.  The  women's  shawls  were 
hanging  in  tatters,  and  they  had  lost  their  bonnets. 
The  men  were  without  hats,  and  their  coats  were  griev- 
ously torn.  There  was  a  thing  among  them  which  had 
been  a  banner,  but  the  pole  was  broken  and  the  tlag 
was  dragged  in  the  dirt  and  smirched. 

One  of  them  who,  seemed  to  be  the  leader — he  wore  a 
uniform  coat  something  like  a  volunteer's  coat — stepped 
to  the  front  and  called  upon  them  all  to  form.  Then 
with  a  loud  voice  he  led  off  a  hymn,  in  which  all  joined 
as  the}^  marched  down  the  street. 


143  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  was  hatless,  and  his  cheek  was  bleeding  from  an 
open  wound.  Yet  he  looked  undaunted,  and  his  hymn 
w^as  a  song  of  triumph.  A  wild-set-up  young  fellow 
with  thick  black  hair  and  black  beard,  but  pale  cheeks. 
His  forehead  was  square  and  firm ;  his  eyes  were  black 
and  fierce. 

"  Good  heavens !"  cried  Harry.  "  It  is  my  cousin 
Tom,  captain  in  the  Salvation  Arm}'.  And  that,  I 
suppose,  is  his  regiment.  Well,  if  standing  still  to  be 
kicked  means  a  victor}',  they  have  scored  one  to-night." 

The  pavement  was  even  more  crowded  than  in  the 
morning.  The  political  agitators  bawled  more  fiercely 
than  in  the  forenoon  to  their  circle  of  apathetic  listen- 
ers; the  preachers  exhorted  the  unwilling  more  fer- 
vently to  embrace  the  faith.  Cheap-jacks  was  dispen- 
sing more  volubly  his  two  penn'orths  of  "  sassaple." 
The  workmen  lounged  along,  with  their  pipes  in  their 
mouths,  more  lazily  than  in  the  morning.  The  only 
difference  was  that  the  shop-boys  were  now  added  to 
the  crowd,  every  lad  with  a  "  twopenny  smoke"  between 
his  li])s;  and  that  the  throng  was  increased  by  those 
who  were  going  home  from  church. 

"Let  us,  too,  go  home,"  said  Angela;  "there  is  too 
much  humanity  here;  we  shall  lose  ourselves  among 
the  crowd." 


CHAPTER   Xin. 

ANGELA'S   EXPERIMENT. 

"No,  Constance,"  Angela  wrote,  "I  cannot  believe 
that  your  lectures  will  be  a  failure,  or  that  your  life's 
work  is  destined  to  be  anything  short  of  a  brilliant 
success — an  'epoch-making'  episode  in  the  history  oj 
Woman's  Rise.  If  your  lectures  have  not  3'et  attracted 
reading  men,  it  must  be  because  they  are  not  yet 
known.  It  is  unworthy  of  faith  in  your  own  high  inis- 
sion  to  suppose  that  personal  appearance  or  beauty  has 
anything  to  do  with  popularity  in  matters  of  mind. 
Who  asks — who  can  ask? — whether  a  woman  of  genius 
is  lovely  or  not?  And  to  take  lower  ground:  every 
woman  owns  the  singular  attractiveness  of  your  own 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  143 

face,  which  has  always  seemed  to  me,  apart  from  per- 
sonal friendship,  the  face  of  pure  intellect.  I  do  not 
give  up  my  belief  that  the  men  will  soon  begin  to  rim 
after  3-our  lectures  as  the}^  did  after  those  of  Hj-patia, 
and  yet  will  become  in  the  University  as  great  a  teacher 
of  mathematics  as  Sir  Isaac  Newton  himself.  Mean- 
time, it  must  be,  I  own,  irksome  to  lecture  on  vulgar 
fractions,  and  the  First  Book  of  Euclid,  and  unsatisfac- 
tory to  find,  after  you  have  made  a  research  and  ar- 
rived at  what  seemed  a  splendid  result,  that  some  man 
has  been  before  you.     Patience,  Constance !" 

At  this  point  the  reader,  who  was  of  course  Constance 
Woodcote,  paused  and  smiled  bitterly.  She  was  angry 
because  she  had  advertised  a  course  of  lectures  on  some 
desperately  high  mathematical  subject  and  no  one  came 
to  hear  them.  Had  she  been,  she  reflected,  a  pink-and- 
white  girl  with  no  forehead  and  soft  ej-es,  everybody 
would  have  rushed  to  hear  her.  As  it  was,  Angela,  no 
doubt,  meant  well,  but  she  was  always  disposed  to  give 
men  credit  for  qualities  which  they  did  not  possess. 
As  if  you  could  ever  persuade  a  man  to  regard  a  woman 
from  a  purely  intellectual  point  of  view !  After  all,  she 
thought,  civilization  was  only  just  begun;  we  live  in  a 
world  of  darkness;  the  reign  of  woman  is  as  yet  afar 
off.  She  continued  her  reading  with  impatience. 
Somehow,  her  friends  seemed  to  have  drifted  away; 
their  lines  were  diverging;  already  the  old  enthusiasms 
had  given  place  to  the  new,  and  Angela  thought  less  of 
the  great  cause  which  she  had  once  promised  to  further 
with  her  mighty  resources. 

"  As  regards  the  scholarship  which  I  promised  j'ou, 
I  must  ask  you  to  wait  a  little,  because  my  hands  are 
full — so  full  of  important  things  that  even  a  new  schol- 
arship at  Newnham  seems  a  small  thing.  I  cannot  tell 
you  in  a  letter  what  my  projects  are,  and  how  I  am 
trying  to  do  something  new  with  my  great  wealth. 
This,  at  least,  I  may  tell  3'ou,  partly  because  I  am  in- 
toxicated with  my  own  schemes,  and,  therefore,  I  must 
tell  everybody  I  speak  to ;  and  partly  because  you  are 
perfectly  certain  not  to  sympathize  with  me,  and  there- 
fore 3^ou  will  not  trouble  to  argue  the  point  with  me. 
I  have  found  out,  to  begin  with,  a  great  truth.  It  is 
that  would-be  philanthropists  and  benefactors  and  im- 


144  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDiriONS  OF  MEN. 

provers  of  things  have  all  along  been  M'orking  on  a  false 
assumption.  They  have  taugiit  and  believed  that  the 
peo})le  look  u\)  to  the  'better  class' — phrase  invented  by 
the  well-to-do  in  order  to  show  riches  and  virtue  go 
together — for  guidance  and  advice.  My  dear,  it  is  the 
greatest  mistake;  they  do  not  look  up  to  us  at  all;  thej' 
do  not  want  to  copy  our  ways;  they  are  perfectly  satis- 
tied  with  their  own  ways;  the}'  will  naturally  take  as 
much  money  as  we  choose  to  give  them,  and  as  many 
prc^sents;  and  they  consider  tho'exhortations,  preach- 
ings, admonitions,  words  of  guidance,  and  advice  as 
uncomfortable  but  unavoidable  accompiiniments  of  this 
gift.  But  we  ourselves  are  neither  respected  nor  cop- 
ied.    Nor  do  they  want  our  culture." 

"  Angela, "  said  the  mathematician,  "is  really  very 
prolix." 

''  This  being  so,  I  nm  endeavoring  to  make  such  peo- 
ple as  I  can  get  at  discontented  as  a  first  step.  AVitli- 
out  discontent,  nothing  can  be  done.  I  work  ujion  them 
by  showing,  practically,  and  by  way  of  example,  better 
things.  This  I  can  do  because  I  am  here  as  simply  one 
of  themselves — a  workwoman  among  other  workwomen. 
I  do  not  work  as  much  as  the  others  in  our  newly 
formetl  association,  because  I  am  sui)posed  to  run  the 
machine,  and  to  go  to  the  West  End  for  work.  Miss  Mes- 
senger is  one  of  our  customers.  So  much  am  I  one  of 
them,  that  I  take  my  wages  on  Saturday,  and  am  to 
have  the  same  share,  and  no  more,  in  the  business  as 
mj'  dressmakers.  I  confess  to  3'ou  that  in  the  founda- 
tion of  my  Dressmakers'  Association  I  have  violated 
most  distinctly  every  precept  of  political  and  social 
economy.  I  have  given  them  a  house  rent-free  for  a 
year;  I  have  fitted  it  up  with  all  that  they  want;  I  have 
started  them  with  orders  from  mj'self ;  I  have  resolved 
to  keep  them  going  until  they  are  able  to  run  alone ;  I 
give  wages,  in  money  and  in  food,  higher  than  the 
market-value.  I  know  what  you  will  say.  It  is  all 
quite  true  scientifically.  But  outside  the  range  of  sci- 
ence there  is  humanity.  And  only  think  what  a  great 
field  my  method  opens  for  the  employment  of  the  unfor- 
tunate rich — the  unhapp}',  useless,  heavil}-  burdened 
rich.  They  will  all  follow  my  example  and  help  the 
people  to  help  themselves. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  145 

"  My  girls  were  at  first  and  for  the  most  part  uninter- 
esting, until  I  came  to  know  them  individually :  every 
one,,  when  you  know  her,  and  can  sympathize  with 
her,  becomes  interesting.  Some  are,  however,  more 
interesting  than  others ;  there  are  two  or  three,  for  in- 
stance, in  whom  I  feel  a  special  interest.  One  of  them, 
whom  I  love  for  her  gentleness  and  for  her  loyalty  to 
me,  is  the  daughter  of  an  old  ship-captain  now  in  an 
almshouse.  She  is  singularly  beautiful,  with  an  air  of 
fragility  which  one  hopes  is  not  real;  she  is  endowed 
by  nature  with  a  keenly  sensitive  disposition,  and  has 
had  the  advantage,  rare  in  these  parts,  of  a  father  who 
learned  to  be  a  gentleman  before  he  came  to  the  alms- 
house. The  other  is  a  religious  fanatic,  a  sectarian  of 
the  most  positive  kind.  She  knows  what  is  truth  more 
certainly  than  any  Professor  of  Truth  we  ever  encoun- 
tered ;  she  is  my  manager  and  is  good  at  business.  I 
think  she  has  come  to  regard  me  with  less  contempt, 
from  a  business  point  of  view,  than  she  did  at  first, 
because  in  the  conduct  of  the  showroom  and  the  trying- 
on  room  she  has  all  her  own  way. 

"  My  evenings  are  mostly  spent  with  the  girls  in  the 
garden  and  'drawing-room.'  Yes,  we  have  a  drawing- 
room  over  the  workroom.  At  first  we  had  tea  at  five 
and  struck  work  at  seven ;  now  we  strike  work  at  half 
past  six  and  take  tea  with  lawn  tennis.  I  assure  you 
my  dressmakers  are  as  fond  of  lawn  tennis  as  the  stu- 
dents of  Newnham.  When  it  is  too  dark  to  play,  we  go 
upstairs  and  have  music  and  dancing." 

Here  followed  a  word  which  had  been  erased.  The 
mathematical  lecturer  held  the  letter  to  the  light  and 
fancied  the  word  was  "Harry."  This  could  hardly 
be ;  it  must  be  Hetty,  or  Kitty,  or  Lotty,  or  some  such 
feminine  abbreviation.  There  could  be  no  Harry.  She 
looked  again.  Strange!  It  certainly  ?t'as  Harry.  She 
shook  her  head  suspiciously  and  went  on  with  the 
letter. 

"  The  girls'  friends  and  sisters  have  begun  to  come, 
and  we  are  learning  all  kinds  of  dances.  Fortunately 
my  dear  old  captain  from  the  almshouse  can  play  the 
fiddle,  and  likes  nothing  better  than  to  play  for  us. 
We  place  him  in  the  corner  beside  the  piano  and  he 
plays  as  long  as  we  please,  being  the  best  of  all  old  cap- 
10 


146  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

tains.  We  are  not  well  off  for  men,  having  at  present 
to  rely  principally  on  a  superior  young  cabinet-maker, 
who  can  also  play  the  fiddle  on  occasion.  He  dances 
very  well,  and  perhaps  he  will  fall  in  love  with  the  cap- 
tain's daughter. 

"  What  I  have  attempted  is,  in  short,  nothing  less 
than  the  introduction  of  a  love  of  what  we  call  culture. 
Other  things  will  follow,  but  at  present  I  am  contented 
with  cin  experiment  on  a  very  humble  scale.  If  I  were 
to  go  among  the  people  in  my  name,  most  of  them 
would  try  to  borrow  or  steal  from  me ;  as  I  am  only  a 
poor  dressmaker,  only  those  who  have  business  with 
me  try  to  take  me  in.  I  do  not  go  on  a  })latform  and 
lecture  the  people;  nor  do  I  open  a  school  to  teach 
them;  nor  do  I  print  and  circulate  tracts.  I  simply 
say,  'My  dears,  I  am  going  to  dance  and  sing,  and 
have  a  little  music,  and  play  lawn  tennis;  come  with 
me,  and  we  will  dance  together.'  And  they  come. 
And  they  behave  well.  I  think  it  is  a  strange  thing 
that  young  women  of  the  lower  class  always  prefer  to 
behave  well  when  they  cati,  while  young  men  of  their 
own  station  take  so  much  pleasure  in  noise  and  riot. 
We  have  no  difficulty  in  our  drawing-room,  where  the 
girls  behave  perfectly  and  enjoy  themselves  in  a  sur- 
prising manner.  I  find  already  a  great  impi-ovement 
in  the  girls.  They  have  acquired  new  interests  in  life, 
thej'  are  happier :  consequently,  they  chatter  like  birds 
in  spring  and  sunshine ;  and  whereas,  since  I  came  into 
these  regions,  it  has  been  a  constant  pain  to  listen  to  the 
querulous  and  angry  talk  of  work-girls  in  omnibuses 
and  in  streets,  I  rejoice  that  we  have  changed  all  this, 
and  while  they  are  with  me  my  girls  can  talk  without 
angry  snapping  of  the  lips,  and  without  the  'sezi'  and 
'sezee'  and  'seshee'  of  the  omnibus.  This  is  surely  a 
great  gain  for  them. 

"  Next,  I  observe  that  they  are  developing  a  certain 
amount  of  pride  in  their  own  superiority;  they  are 
lifted  above  their  neighbors,  if  onl}'  by  the  nightly 
drawing-room.  I  fear  they  will  become  unpopular 
from  hauteur;  but  there  is  no  gain  without  some  loss. 
If  only  one  felt  justified  in  doubling  the  number  of  the 
girls!  But  the  Stepney  ladies  have  hitherto  shown 
no  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  the  Association.     The 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  147 

feeling  in  these  parts  is,  you  see,  commercial  rather 
than  co-operative. 

"  The  dinner  is  to  me  the  most  satisfactory  as  well  as 
the  most  unscientific  part  of  the  business.  I  believe  I 
have  no  right  to  give  them  a  dinner  at  all;  it  is 
against  the  custom  in  dressmakers'  shops,  where  girls 
bring  their  own  dinners,  poor  things;  it  costs  quite  a 
shilling  a  head  every  day  to  find  the  dinner,  and  Ee- 
bekah,  my  forewoman,  tells  me  that  no  profits  can 
stand  against  such  a  drain :  but  I  must  go  on  with  the 
dinner  even  if  it  swallows  up  all  the  profits. 

"  On  Sundaj^s  the  drawing-room  is  kept  open  all  day 
long  for  those  who  like  to  come.  Some  do,  because  it 
is  quiet.  In  the  evening  we  have  sacred  music.  One 
of  the  young  men  plays  the  violin" — the  reader  turned 
back  and  referred  to  a  previous  passage — yes ;  she  had 
already  mentioned  a  cabinet-maker  in  connection  with 
a  fiddle — no  doubt  it  must  be  the  same — "  and  vv^e  have 
duets,  but  I  fear  the  girls  do  not  care  much  yet  ioi^ 
classical  music " 

Here  the  reader  crumpled  up  the  letter  in  impatience. 

"  And  this,"  she  groaned,  "  is  the  result  of  two  years 
at  JSTewnham !  After  her  course  of  political  economy, 
after  all  those  lectures,  after  actually  distinguishing 
herself  and  taking  a  place,  this  is  the  end !  To  play 
the  piano  for  a  lot  of  work-girls;  with  a  cabinet-maker; 
and  an  old  sailor ;  and  to  be  a  dressmaker !  That  is, 
alas !  the  very  woret  feature  in  the  case :  she  evidently 
likes  it;  she  has  no  wish  to  return  to  civilization;  she 
has  forgotten  her  science;  she  is  setting  a  most  mis- 
chievous example ;  and  she  has  forgotten  her  distinct 
promise  to  give  us  a  mathematical  scholarship. 

"O  Angela!" 

She  had  imagined  that  the  heiress  would  endow  Newn- 
ham  with  great  gifts,  and  she  Avas  disappointed.  She  had 
imagined  this  so  very  strongly  that  she  felt  personally 
aggrieved  and  injured.  What  did  she  care  about  Stepne}'' 
work-girls?  What  have  mathematics  to  do  with  poor 
people  in  an  ugly  and  poor  part  of  town? 

Angela's  letter  did  not  convey  the  whole  truth,  be- 
cause she  herself  was  ignorant  of  the  discussions,  gos- 
sips, rumors,  and  reports  which  were  flj'ing  ai)out  in 
the   neighlwrhood   of   Stepney   Green   concerning   her 


148  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

venture.  There  were  some,  for  instance,  who  demon- 
strated that  sucli  an  institution  must  fail  for  reasons 
which  they  learnedly  expounded ;  among:  these  was  Mr. 
Bunker.  There  were  some  who  were  ready  to  prove, 
from  the  highest  authorities,  the  wickedness  of  trying 
to  do  without  a  pr()i)rietor,  master,  or  boss ;  there  were 
some  who  saw  in  this  revolutionary  movement  the  be- 
ginning of  those  troubles  which  will  afflict  mankind 
toward  the  coming  of  the  end;  there  were  others, 
among  whom  was  also  Mr.  Bunker,  who  asked  by 
what  right  this  3'oimg  woman  had  come  among  them 
to  interfere,  where  she  had  got  her  mone}-,  and  what 
were  her  antecedents?  To  Bunker's  certain  knowlc^dge, 
and  no  one  had  better  sources  of  information,  liundreds 
had  been  spent  by  jNIiss  Kennedy  in  starting  the  asso- 
ciation ;  Avhile,  whether  it  was  true  that  Miss  Messen- 
ger supported  the  place  or  not,  there  could  never  be 
enough  work  to  get  back  all  that  money,  pay  all  the 
wages,  and  the  rest,  and  the  dinners,  and  hot  dinners 
every  day !  There  was  even  talk  of  getting  up  a  me- 
morial })ra3'ing  Miss  Messenger  not  to  interfere  with  the 
trade  of  the  place,  and  pointing  out  that  there  were 
many  most  respectable  dressmakers  where  the  work 
could  be  quite  as  well  done  as  by  Miss  Kennedy's  girls, 
no  doubt  cheaper,  and  the  profit  would  go  to  the  right- 
ful claimant  of  it,  not  to  be  divided  among  the  work- 
M'omen. 

As  for  the  privileges  bestowed  upon  the  girls,  there 
was  in  certain  circles  but  one  opinion — they  were  ridic- 
ulous. Recreation  time,  free  dinner  of  meat  and  vege- 
tables, short  hours,  reading  aloud,  and  a  club-room  or 
drawing-room  for  the  evening;  what  more  could  their 
betters  have?  For  it  is  a  fixed  article  of  belief,  one  of 
the  Twenty-nine  Articles  in  certain  strata  of  society, 
that  people  "  below  them"  have  no  right  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  anything.  They  do  not  mean  to  be  cruel,  but 
they  have  always  associated  poverty  with  dirt,  discom- 
fort, disagreeable  companions,  and  the  absence  of 
pleasantness ;  for  a  poor  person  to  be  happy  is  either  to 
them  an  impossibility,  or  it  is  a  tlying  in  the  face  of 
Providence.  But  then,  these  people  know  nothing  of 
the  joys  which  can  be  had  without  money.  Now,  when 
the  world  discovers  and  realizes  how  many  these  are 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  Wd 

and  how  great  they  are,  the  reign  of  the  ahnighty  dol- 
lar is  at  an  end.  Whatever  the  Stepney  folk  thought, 
and  however  diverse  their  judgment,  they  were  all  ex- 
tremely curious,  and  after  the  place  had  been  open  for 
a  few  weeks  and  began  to  get  known,  all  the  ladies 
from  Whitechapel  Church  to  Bow  Church  began  with* 
one  consent  to  call.  They  were  received  by  a  5'oung 
person  of  grave  face  and  grave  manners,  who  showed 
them  all  the}'  wanted  to  see,  answered  all  their  ques- 
tions and  the  showrooms,  the  dining-room  and  the 
drawing-room;  the}^  also  saw  most  beautiful  dresses 
which  were  being  made  for  Miss  Messenger ;  those  who 
went  there  in  the  morning  might  see  with  their  own 
e^'es  dressmaker  girls  actually  playing  lawn  tennis,  if 
in  the  afternoon  they  miglit  see  an  old  gentleman  read- 
ing aloud  while  the  girls  worked;  they  might  also 
observe  that  there  were  flowers  in  the  room;  it  was 
perfectly  certain  that  there  was  a  piano  upstairs,  be- 
cause it  had  been  seen  by  many,  and  the  person  in  the 
showroom  made  no  secret  at  all  that  there  was  danciug 
in  the  evening,  with  songs,  and  reading  of  books,  and 
other  diversions. 

The  contemplation  of  these  things  mostly  sent  the 
visitors  away  in  sorrow.  They  did  not  dance  or  sing 
or  pla}' ;  ihey  never  wanted  to  dance  or  sing ;  lawn  tennis 
was  not  played  by //?e/r  daughters;  they  did  not  have 
bright-covered  books  to  read.  What  did  it  mean,  giv- 
ing these  things  to  dressmaker  girls?  Some  of  them 
not  only  resolved  not  to  send  their  custom  to  the  asso- 
ciation, but  directed  tracts  to  the  house. 

They  came,  however,  after  a  time,  and  had  their 
dresses  made  there,  for  a  reason  which  will  ajjpear  in 
the  sequel.     But  at  the  outset  they  held  aloof. 

Far  different  was  the  reception  given  to  the  institu- 
tion by  the  people  for  whose  benefit  it  was  designed. 
When  they  had  quite  got  over  their  natural  suspicion 
of  a  strange  thing;  when  the  girls  were  found  to  bring 
home  their  pay  regularly  on  a  Saturday;  when  the 
dinner  proved  a  real  thing  and  the  hours  continued  to 
be  merciful;  when  the  girls  reported  continuously 
kind  treatment ;  when  the  evenings  spent  in  the  draw- 
ing-room were  found  to  be  delightful,  and  when  other 
doubts  and  whisperings  about  Miss  Kennedy's  motives,. 


150  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

intentions,  and  secret  character  gradually  died  away, 
the  association  became  popular,  and  all  the  needle- 
girls  of  the  place  would  fain  have  joined  Miss  Kennedy. 
The  thing  which  did  the  most  to  create  the  popularity 
was  the  permission  for  the  girls  to  bring  some  of  their 
friends  and  people  on  the  Saturday  evening.  They 
"  received"  on  Saturday  evening — they  were  at  home ; 
they  entertained  their  guests  on  that  night;  and,  though 
the  entertainment  cost  nothing  but  the  lights,  it  soon 
became  an  honor  and  a  pleasure  to  receive  an  invita- 
tion. Most  of  those  who  came  at  first  were  other  girls ; 
they  were  shy  and  stood  about  all  arms;  then  they 
learned  their  steps ;  then  they  danced ;  then  the  weari- 
ness wore  out  of  their  eyes  and  the  roses  came  back  to 
their  cheeks;  they  forgot  the  naggings  of  the  work- 
room, and  felt  for  the  first  time  the  joy  of  their  youth. 
Some  of  them  were  inclined  at  first  to  be  rough  and 
bold,  but  the  atmosphere  calmed  them ;  they  either 
came  no  more  or  if  they  came  they  were  quiet;  some  of 
them  affected  a  superior  and  contemptuous  air,  not  un- 
common with  ■'  young  persons"  when  they  are  jealous 
or  envious,  but  this  is  a  mood  easily  cured ;  some  of 
them  were  frivolous,  but  these  were  also  easily  subdued. 
For  always  with  them  was  Miss  Kennedy  herself,  a 
Juno,  their  queen,  whose  manner  was  so  kind,  whose 
smile  was  so  sweet,  whose  voice  was  so  soft,  whose 
greeting  was  so  warm,  and  yet — yet.  .  .who  could  not 
be  resisted,  even  by  the  boldest  or  the  most  frivolous. 
The  first  step  was  not  to  be  afraid  of  Miss  Kenned}" ;  at 
no  subsequent  stage  of  their  acquaintance  did  any  cease 
to  respect  her. 

As  for  Rebekah,  she  would  not  come  on  Saturday 
evening,  as  it  was  part  of  her  Sabbath;  but  JSTelly 
proved  of  the  greatest  use  in  maintaining  the  decorum 
and  in  promoting  the  spirit  of  the  evenings,  which 
wanted,  it  is  true,  a  leader. 

Sometimes  the  girls'  mothers  would  come,  especially 
those  who  had  not  too  many  babies;  they  sat  with 
folded  hands  and  wondering  eyes,  while  their  daugh- 
ters danced,  while  Miss  Kennedy  sang,  and  Mr.  Gos- 
lett  played  the  fiddle.  Angela  went  among  them, 
talking  in  her  sympathetic  way,  and  won  their  confi- 
dence so  that  they  presently  responded  and  told  her  all 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  151 

their  ti'oiibles  and  woe.  Or  sometimes  the  fathers 
would  be  brought,  but  verj^  seldom  came  tvv'ice.  Now 
and  then  a  brother  would  appear,  but  it  was  many- 
weeks  before  the  brothers  began  to  come  regularly; 
when  they  did,  it  became  apparent  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  place  more  attractive  than  brotherly  duty 
or  the  love  of  dancing.  Of  course,  sweethearts  were 
bound  to  come  whether  they  liked  it  or  not.  There 
were,  at  first,  many  little  hitches,  disagreeable  inci- 
dents, rebellious  exhibitions  of  temper,  bad  behavior, 
mistakes,  social  sins,  and  other  things  of  which  the 
chronicler  must  be  mute,  because  the  general  result  is 
all  that  we  desire  to  record.  And  this  was  satisfactory. 
For  the  first  time  the  girls  learned  that. there  were  joys 
in  life,  joys  even  within  their  reach,  with  a  little  help, 
poor  as  they  were;  joys  wiiich  cost  them  nothing. 
Among  them  were  girls  of  the  veryhumblest,  who  had 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  presentiug  a  decent  appearance, 
who  lived  in  crowded  lodgings  or  in  poor  houses  with 
their  numerous  brothers  and  sisters;  pale-faced  girls, 
heavy-hearted  girls ;  joyless  maidens,  loveless  maidens — 
girls  who  from  long  hours  of  work,  and  from  want  of 
open  air  and  good  food,  stooped  their  shoulders  and 
dragged  their  limbs — when  Angela  saw  them  first,  she 
wished  that  she  was  a  man  to  use  strong  language 
against  their  employers.  How  she  violated  all  princi- 
ples of  social  economy,  giving  clothes,  secretly  lending 
money,  visiting  mothers,  paying  rent,  and  all  without 
any  regard  to  supply  and  demand,  marketable  value, 
price  current,  worth  of  labor,  wages  rate,  averages,  per- 
centages, interest,  caj^ital,  commercial  rules,  theory  of 
trade,  encouragement  of  over-population,  would  be  too 
disgraceful  to  narrate;  indeed,  she  blushed  when  she 
thought  of  the  beautiful  and  heart-warming  science  in 
which  she  had  so  greatly  distinguished  herself,  and  on 
which  she  trampled  daily.  Yet  if,  on  the  one  side, 
there  stood  cold  science,  and  on  the  other  a  suffering 
girl,  it  is  ridiculous  to  acknowledge  that  the  girl  al- 
ways won  the  day. 

Among  the  girls  was  one  who  interested  Angela 
greatly,  not  because  she  was  pretty,  for  she  was  not 
pretty  at  all,  but  plain  to  look  upon,  and  lame,  but  be- 
cause she  bore  a  very  hard  lot  with  patience  and  cour- 


152  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

age  very  beautiful  to  see.  She  had  a  sister  who  was 
crippled  and  had  a  weak  back,  so  that  she  could  not  sit 
up  long,  nor  earn  much.  She  had  a  mother  who  was 
growing  old  and  weak  of  sight,  so  that  she  could  not 
earn  much;  she  had  a  young  brother  who  lived  like  the 
sparrows;  that  is  to  say,  he  ran  wild  in  the  streets  and 
stole  his  daily  bread,  and  was  rapidly  rising  to  the  dig- 
nity and  rank  of  an  habitual  criminal.  He  seldom, 
however,  came  home,  except  to  borroAv  or  beg  for 
money.  She  had  a  father,  whose  name  was  never  men- 
tioned, so  that  he  was  certainly  an  undesirable  father, 
a  bad  bargain  of  a  father,  a  father  impossible,  viewed 
in  connection  with  the  fifth  commandment.  This  was 
the  girl  who  byrst  into  tears  when  she  saw  the  roast 
beef  for  the  first  time.  Her  tears  were  caused  by  a 
number  of  reasons :  first,  because  she  was  hungry  and 
her  condition  was  low;  secondly,  because  roasted  beef 
to  a  hungry  girl  is  a  thing  too  beautiful;  thirdly,  be- 
cause while  she  was  feasting,  her  sister  and  mother 
were  starving.  The  crippled  sister  presently  came  to 
the  house  and  remained  in  it  all  day.  What  special 
arrangements  were  made  with  Rebekah,  the  spirit  of 
commerce,  as  regards  her  pay,  I  know  not;  but  she 
came,  did  a  little  work,  sat  or  lay  down  in  the  drawing- 
room  most  of  the  time;  and  presently,  under  Miss  Ken- 
nedy's instruction,  began  to  practise  on  the  piano.  A 
work-girl,  actually  a  work- girl,  if  you  please,  playing 
scales,  with  a  one,  two,  three,  four,  one,  two,  three, 
four,  just  as  if  she  was  a  lady  living  in  the  Mile  End 
Road  and  the  daughter  of  a  clerk  in  the  brewery ! 

Yes,  the  girls,  who  had  formerly  worked  in  unhealthy 
rooms  till  half-past  eight,  new  worked  in  well-venti- 
lated rooms  till  half- past  six ;  they  had  time  to  rest  and 
run  about ;  they  had  good  food,  they  had  cheerful  talk, 
the}"  were  encouraged ;  Captain  Sorensen  came  to  read 
to  them;  in  the  evening  they  had  a  delightful  room  to 
sit  in,  where  they  could  read  and  talk,  or  dance,  or  lis- 
ten. While  they  read  the  books  which  Miss  Kennedy 
laid  on  the  table  for  them,  she  would  play  and  sing. 
First,  she  chose  simple  songs  and  simple  pieces,  and  as 
their  taste  for  music  grew,  so  her  music  improved ;  and 
everyday  found  the  drawing-room  more  attractive,  and 
the  girls  more  loath  to  go  home.     She  watched  her  ex- 


ALL  SORTS  A.\D  CONDITIOXS  OF  3IEi\.  153 

periment  with  the  keenest  interest ;  the  girls  were  cer- 
tainly growing  more  refined  in  manner  and  in  thought. 
Even  Kebekah  was  softening  dail}^ ;  she  looked  on  at 
the  dance  without  a  shudder,  even  when  the  handsome 
young  workman  clasped  Nelly  Sorensen  by  the  waist 
and  whirled  her  round  the  room ;  and  she  owned  that 
there  was  music  in  the  world,  outside  her  little  chapel, 
far  svv^eeter  than  anything  they  had  within  it.  As  for 
Nelly,  she  simply  worshipped.  Whatever  Miss  Ken- 
nedy did  was  right  and  beautiful  and  perfect  in  her 
eyes ;  nor,  in  her  ignorance  of  the  world,  did  she  ponder 
any  more  over  that  first  difficulty  of  hers,  why  a  lady, 
and  such  a  lady,  had  come  to  Stepney  Green  to  be  a 
dressmaker. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    TENDER    PASSION. 

It  is  always  a  dangerous  thing  for  two  young  persons 
of  opposite  sexes  to  live  together  under  the  same  roof, 
even  when  the  lady  is  plain  and  at  first  sight  unattract- 
ive, and  when  the  young  man  is  stupid.  For  they 
get  to  know  one  another.  Now,  so  great  is  the  beauty 
of  human  nature,  even  in  its  second-rate  or  third-rate 
productions,  that  love  generally  follows  when  one  of  the 
two,  by  confession  or  unconscious  self- betrayal,  stands 
revealed  to  the  other.  It  is  not  the  actual  man  or  wom- 
an, you  see,  who  is  loved— it  is  the  ideal,  the  possible, 
the  model  or  type  from  which  the  specimen  is  copied, 
and  which  it  distinctly  resembles.  But  think  of  the 
danger  when  the  house  in  which  these  young  people  find 
themselves  is  not  a  large  country-house,  where  many 
are  gathered  together  of  like  pursuits,  but  an  obscure 
boarding-house  in  a  society-forgotten  suburb,  where 
these  two  had  only  each  other  to  talk  to.  Add  to  this 
that  they  are  both  interested  in  an  experiment  of  the 
greatest  delicacy,  in  which  the  least  false  step  would 
be  fatal.  Add,  further,  the  fact  that  each  is  astonished 
at  the  other :  the  one  to  find  in  a  dressmaker  the  refine- 
ment and  all  the  accomplishments  of  a  lady;  the  other, 
to  find  in  a  cabinet-maker  the  distinguishirig  marks  of 


154  ALL  ."^ORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

a  gentleman;  the  same  way  of  looking  at  things  and 
talking  about  them;  the  same  bearing  and  the  same 
courtesy. 

The  danger  was  even  made  greater  by  what  seemed 
a  preventive — namely,  by  the  way  in  which  at  the 
beginning  Angela  so  very  firmly  put  down  her  foot  on  the 
subject  of  "keeping  company;"  there  wms  to  be  no  at- 
tempt at  love-making;  on  that  understanding  the  two 
could,  and  did,  go  about  together  as  much  as  they 
pleased.  What  followed  naturally  was  that  more  and 
more  they  began  to  consider  each  the  other  as  a  prob- 
lem of  an  interesting  character.  Angela  observed  that 
the  young  workman,  whpm  she  had  at  first  considered 
of  a  frivolous  disposition,  seemed  to  be  growing  more 
serious  in  his  views  of  things,  and  even  when  he  laughed 
there  was  method  in  his  folly.  No  men  are  so  solemn, 
she  refiected,  as  the  dull  of  comprehension  ;  perhaps  the 
extremely  serious  character  of  the  place  in  which  they 
lived  was  making  him  dull,  too.  It  is  difficult,  cer- 
tainh^,  for  any  one  to  go  on  laughing  at  Stepney;  the 
children,  who  begin  by  laughing,  like  children  every- 
where, have  to  give  up  the  practice  before  they  are 
eight  years  of  age,  because  the  streets  are  so  insuffer- 
ably dull ;  the  grown-up  people  never  laugh  at  all ;  when 
immigrants  arrive  from  livelier  quarters,  say  Man- 
chester or  Sheffield,  after  a  certain  time  of  residence — 
the  period  varies  with  the  mercurial  temperament  of 
the  patient — they  laugh  no  more.  "Surely,"  thought 
Angela,  "  he  is  settling  down ;  he  will  soon  find  work ; 
he  will  become  like  other  men  of  his  class ;  and  then, 
no  doubt,  he  will  fall  in  love  with  Nelly.  Nothing 
could  be  more  suitable." 

By  saying  to  herself,  over  and  over  again,  that  this 
arrangement  should  take  place,  she  had  got  to  persuade 
herself  that  it  certainly  would.  "Nelly  possessed,"  she 
said,  "the  refinement  of  manner  and  nature,  without 
which  the  young  man  would  be  wretched;  she  was 
affectionate  and  sensible;  it  would  certainly  do  very 
w^ell."  And  she  was  hardlj*  conscious,  while  she  ar- 
ranged this  in  her  own  head,  of  a  certain  uneasy  feeling 
in  her  mind,  which  in  smaller  creatures  might  have 
been  called  jealousy. 

So  far,  there  had  been  little  to  warrant  the  belief  that 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  155 

things  were  advancing  in  the  direction  she  desired. 
He  was  not  much  more  attentive  to  Nelly  than  to  any 
other  of  the  girls ;  worse  still,  as  she  reflected  with  trep- 
idation, there  were  many  sj^mptoms  by  which  he 
showed  a  preference  for  quite  another  person. 

As  for  Harry,  it  was  useless  for  him  to  conceal  from 
himself  any  longer  the  fact  that  he  was  by  this  time 
head-over-ears  in  love.  The  situation  offered  greater 
temptations  than  his  strength  could  withstand.  He 
succumbed — whatever  the  end  might  be,  he  was  in  love. 

If  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  this  was  rather  a  remark- 
able result  of  a  descent  into  the  lower  regions.  One 
expects  to  meet  in  the  Home  of  Dull  Ugliness  things 
repellent,  coarse;  enjoying  the  freedom  of  nature,  un- 
restrained, unconventional.  Harry  found,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  sweetness  of  Eden,  a  fair  garden  of  delights, 
in  which  sat  a  peerless  lady,  the  Queen  of  Beauty,  a 
very  Venus.  All  his  life,  that  is,  since  he  had  begun 
to  think  about  love  at  all,  he  had  stoutly  hekfand  stren- 
uously maintained  that  it  was  Use  majeste,  high  treason 
to  love,  for  a  man  to  throw  away — he  used  to  say 
"  throw  away" — upon  a  maiden  of  low  degree  the  pas- 
sion which  should  be  offered  to  a  lady — a  demoiselle. 
The  position  was  certainly  altered,  inasmuch  as  he  was 
no  longer  of  gentle  birth.  Therefore,  he  argued,  he 
would  no  longer  pretend  to  the  hand  of  a  lady.  At 
first  he  used  to  make  resolutions,  as  bravely  as  a  board 
of  directors :  he  would  arise  and  flee  to  the  desert — any 
place  would  be  a  desert  without  her ;  he  would  get  out 
of  temptation ;  ho  would  go  back  to  Piccadilly,  and  there 
forget  her.  Yet  he  remained;  yet  every  day  he  sought 
her  again;  every  day  his  condition  became  more  hope- 
less; every  day  he  continued  to  walk  with  her,  play 
duets  with  her,  sing  with  her,  dance  with  her,  argue 
with  her,  learn  from  her,  teach  her,  watch  over  her,  and 
felt  the  sunshine  of  her  presence,  and  at  meeting  and 
parting  touched  her  fingers. 

She  was  so  well  educated,  he  said,  strengthening  his 
faith;  she  was  so  kindly  and  considerate;  her  manners 
were  so  perfect ;  she  was  so  beautiful  and  graceful ;  she 
knew  so  well  how  to  command,  that  he  was  constrained 
to  own  that  no  lady  of  his  accjuaintance  was,  or  could 
be,  her  superior.     To  call  her  a  dressmaker  was  to  en- 


156  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

noble  and  sanctif}"  the  Avhole  craft.  She  should  be  to 
that  art  what  Cecilia  is  to  music — its  patron  saint ;  she 
should  be  to  himself — yet,  what  would  be  the  end?  He 
smiled  grimly,  thinking  that  there  was  no  need  to  spec- 
ulate on  the  end,  when  as  yet  there  had  been  no  begin- 
ning. He  could  not  make  a  beginning.  If  he  ventured 
on  some  shy  and  modest  tentative  in  the  direction  of — 
call  it  an  understanding^she  froze.  She  was  always 
on  the  watch ;  she  seemed  to  say :  "  Thus  far  you  may 
presume,  but  no  farther."  What  did  it  mean?  Was 
she  really  resolved  never  to  receive  his  advances?  Did 
she  dislike  him?  That  could  hardly  be.  Was  she 
watching  him?  Was  she  afraid  to  trust  him?  That 
might  be.  Or  was  she  already  engaged  to  some  other 
fellow — some  superior  fellow — perhaps  with  a  shop — 
gracious  heavens! — of  liis  own?  That  might  be, 
though  it  made  him  cold  to  think  it  possible.  Or  did 
she  have  some  past  history,  some  unhappy  complication 
of  the  affections,  which  made  her  as  cold  as  Dian? 
That,  too,  might  be. 

The  ordinary  young  man,  thrown  into  the  society  of 
half  a  dozen  working-girls,  would  have  begun  to  flirt 
and  talk  nonsense  with  all  of  them  together,  or  with 
one  after  the  other.  Harry  was  not  that  kind  of  young 
man.  There  is  always,  by  the  blessing  of  kind  Heaven, 
left  unto  us  a  remnant  of  those  who  hold  woman  sacred, 
and  continually  praise,  worship,  and  reverence  the 
name  of  love.  He  was  one  of  those  young  men.  To 
flirt  with  a  milliner  did  not  seem  a  delightful  thing  to 
him  at  any  time.  And  in  this  case  there  was  another 
reason  why  he  should  not  behave  in  the  manner  cus- 
tomary to  the  would-be  Don  Juan ;  it  Avas  simply  foi 
de  geniilhomme;  he  was  tolerated  among  them  all  on 
a  kind  of  unspoken  but  understood  parole.  Miss  Ken- 
nedy received  him  in  confidence  that  he  would  not 
abuse  her  kindness. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  when  they  were  walking  to- 
gether— it  was  in  one  of  the  warm  days  of  last  Septem- 
ber— ^in  Victoria  Park,  they  had  a  conversation  which 
led  to  really  important  things.  There  are  one  or  two 
very  pretty  walks  in  that  garden,  and  though  the  sea- 
son was  late,  and  the  leaves  mostly  yellow,  brown, 
crimson,  or   golden,  there   were   still   flowers,  and   the 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  157 

ornamental  water  was  bright,  and  the  path  crowded 
with  people  who  looked  happ}',  because  the  sun  was 
shining;  they  had  all  dined  plentifully,  with  copious 
beer,  and  the  girls  had  got  on  their  best  things,  and  the 
swains  were  gallant  with  a  tiower  in  the  buttonhole 
and  a  cigar  between  the  lips.  There  is,  indeed,  so  lit- 
tle difference  between  the  rich  and  the  poor — can  even 
Hyde  Park  in  the  season  go  be3-ond  the  Hower  and  the 
cigar?  In  certain  tropical  lands,  the  first  step  in  civi- 
lization is  to  buy  a  mosquito-curtain,  though  your  dusky 
epidermis  is  as  impervious  as  a  crocodile's  to  the  sting 
of  a  mosquito.  In  this  realm  of  England  the  first  step 
toward  gentility  is  the  twopennj^  smoke,  to  which  we 
cling,  though  it  is  made  of  medicated  cabbage,  though 
it  makes  the  mouth  raw,  the  tongue  sore,  the  lips 
cracked,  the  e.yes  red,  the  nerves  shak}-,  and  the  temper 
short.      Who  Avould  not  suffer  in  such  a  cause? 

It  began  with  a  remark  of  Angela's  about  his  con- 
tinued laziness.  He  replied,  evasively,  that  he  had  in- 
tended to  take  a  long  holiday,  in  order  to  look  round  and 
consider  what  was  best  to  be  done ;  that  he  liked  holi- 
daj's ;  that  he  meant  to  introduce  holidays  into  the  next 
trade  dispute;  that  his  holida5*s  enabled  him  to  work  a 
little  for  Miss  Kennedy,  without  counting  his  lordship, 
whose  case  he  had  now  drawn  up;  that  he  was  now 
ready  for  work  whenever,  he  added  airily,  work  was 
ready  for  him ;  and  that  he  was  not,  in  fact,  quite  sure 
that  Stepney  and  its  neighborhood  would  prove  the  best 
place  for  him  to  work  out  his  life. 

"  I  should  think, "  said  Angela,  "  that  it  would  be  as 
good  a  place  as  any  you  woukl  find  in  America." 

"If  you  tell  me  to  stay.  Miss  Kennedy,"  he  replied, 
with  a  sudden  earnestness,  "  I  will  stay." 

She  instantly  froze,  and  chillingly  said  that  if  his 
interests  required  him  to  go,  of  course  he  would  go. 

Therefore  Harr}-,  after  a  few  moments'  silence,  dur- 
ing which  he  battled  with  the  temptation  to  "have  it 
out "  there  and  then,  before  all  the  happy  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  of  Bethnal  Green,  returned  to  his  origi- 
nal form,  and  made  as  if  those  words  had  not  been 
spoken  and  that  effect  not  been  produced.  You  may 
notice  the  same  thing  with  children  who  have  been 
scolded. 


158  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  Did  5^ou  ever  consider,  Miss  Kennedy,  the  truly 
happy  condition  of  the  perfect  cabinet-maker?" 

"  No:  I  never  did.     Is  he  happy  above  his  fellows?" 

"  Your  questions  betray  your  ignorance.  Till  lately 
— till  I  returned  from  America — 1  never  wholly  realized 
what  a  su]3erior  creature  he  is.  Why,  in  the  first 
place,  the  cabinet-maker  is  perhaps  the  only  workman 
who  never  scamps  his  work;  he  is  a  responsible  man; 
he  takes  pride  in  producing  a  good  and  honest  thing. 
We  have  no  tricks  in  our  trade.  Then,  if  you  care  to 
hoar " 

"'  Pray  go  on :  let  me  learn  all  I  can." 

"  Then  we  were  the  first  to  organize  ourselves.  Our 
societ}'  was  founded  eighty  years  ago.  We  had  no 
foolish  strike,  but  we  just  met  the  emplo3-ers  and  told 
them  we  were  going  to  arrange  with  them  what  our 
share  should  be ;  and  we  made  a  book  about  wages — I 
do  not  think  so  good  a  book  has  been  put  together  this 
century.  Then,  we  are  a  respectable  lot;  you  never 
hear  of  a  cabinet-maker  in  trouble  at  a  police-court; 
ver}'  few  of  us  get  drunk ;  most  of  us  read  books  and 
papers,  and  have  opinions.  My  cousin  Dick  has  very 
strong  opinions.  We  are  critical  about  amusements, 
and  we  prefer  Henry  Irving  to  a  music-hall ;  we  do  not 
allow  rough  talk  in  the  workshops;  w^e  are  mostly  mem- 
bers of  some  church,  and  we  know  how  to  value  our- 
selves." 

"I  shall  know  how  to  value  your  craft  in  future," 
said  Angela,  "especially  when  you  are  working  again." 

"  Yes.  I  do  not  want  to  work  in  a  shop,  you  know ; 
but  one  may  get  a  place,  perhaps,  in  one  of  the  rail- 
way-carriage depots,  or  a  hotel,  or  a  big  factory,  where 
they  always  keep  a  cabinet-maker  in  regular  pay.  My 
cousin  Dick — Dick  the  radical — is  cabinet-maker  in  a 
mangle-factory.  I  do  not  know  what  he  makes  for  his 
mangles,  but  that  is  what  he  is." 

"  I  have  seen  your  cousin  Tom,  when  he  was  rolled  in 
the  mud  and  before  he  led  off  the  hjnnn  and  the  proces- 
sion.    You  must  bring  me  your  cousin  Dick." 

"  Dick  is  better  fun  than  Tom.  Both  are  terribly  in 
earnest;  but  you  will  find  Dick  interesting." 

"  Does  he  walk  about  on  Sunday  afternoons?  Should 
we  be  likely  to  meet  him  here?" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  159 

"Oh,  no!  Dick  is  forging  his  speech  for  to-night. 
He  addresses  the  Advanced  Chib  ahnost  everj'  Sunday 
evening  on  the  House  of  Lords,  or  the  Church,  or  the 
Couutr}-  Bumpkin's  Suffrage,  or  the  Cape  question,  or 
Protection,  or  the  Nihilists,  or  Ireland,  or  America,  or 
something.  The  speech  must  be  red-hot,  or  his  reputa- 
tion would  be  lost.  So  he  spends  the  afternoon  stick- 
ing it  into  the  furnace,  so  to  speak.  It  doesn't  matter 
what  the  subject  is,  always  provided  that  he  can  lug  in 
the  bloated  aristocrat  and  the  hated  Tory.  I  assure  you 
Dick  is  a  most  interesting  person." 

"Do  you  ever  speak  at  the  Advanced  Club?" 
"  I  go  there ;  I  am  a  member ;  now  and  then  I  say  a 
word.  When  a  member  makes  a  red-hot  speech,  brim- 
ful of  insane  accusations,  and  sits  down  amid  a  round 
of  applause,  it  is  pleasant  to  get  up  and  set  him  right 
on  matters  of  fact,  because  all  the  enthusiasm  is  killed 
when  you  come  to  facts.  Some  of  them  do  not  love 
me  at  the  club." 

"  They  are  real  and  in  earnest,  while  you " 

"No,  Miss  Kennedy,  they  are  not  real,  whatever  I 
may  be.  They  are  quite  conventional.  The  people 
like  to  be  roused  by  red-hot,  scorching  speeches ;  they 
want  burning  questions,  intolerable  grievances;  so  the 
speakers  find  them  or  invent  them.  As  for  the  audi- 
ence, they  have  had  so  many  sham  gi-ievances  told  in 
red-hot  words  that  they  have  become  callous,  and  don't 
know  of  any  real  ones.  The  indignation  of  the  speak- 
ers is  a  sham ;  the  enthusiasm  of  the  listeners  is  a  sham ; 
they  applaud  the  eloquence,  but  as  for  the  stuff  that  is 
said,  it  moves  them  not.  As  for  his  politics,  the  Brit- 
ish workman  has  got  a  vague  idea  that  things  go  better 
for  him  under  the  Li berals.  When  the  Liberals  come  in, 
after  making  promises  by  the  thousand,  and  when,  like 
then-  predecessors,  they  have  made  the  usual  mess,  confi- 
dence is  shaken.  Then  he  allows  the  Conservatives, 
who  do  not,  at  all  events,  promise  oranges  and  l>eer  all 
round,  back  again,  and  gives  them  another  show.  As 
if  it  matters  which  side  is  in  to  the  British  workman !" 
"And  they  are  not  discontented,"  asked  Angela, 
"with  their  own  lives?" 

"  Not  one  bit.     They  don't  want  to  change  their  own 
hves.     Whv  should  thev?" 


160  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"All  these  people  in  the  park  to-da}^"  she  continued, 
"are  they  working-men?'' 

"  Yes :  some  of  them — the  better  sort.  Of  course'" — 
Harry  looked  round  and  surveyed  the  crowd — "of 
course,  when  you  open  a  garden  of  this  sort  for  the  peo- 
ple, the  well-dressed  come,  and  the  ragged  stay  awa}" 
and  hide.  There  is  plenty  of  ragged  stuff  round  and 
about  us,  but  it  hides.  And  there  is  plenty  of  comfort 
which  walks  abroad  and  shows  itself.  This  end  of 
London  is  the  home  of  little  industries.  Here,  for  in- 
stance, they  make  the  things  which  belong  to  other 
things." 

"  That  seems  a  riddle,"  said  Angela. 

"I  mean  things  like  card-boxes,  pill-boxes,  orna- 
mental boxes  of  all  kinds,  for  confectioners,  druggists, 
and  drapers;  they  make  all  kinds  of  such  things  for 
wholesale  houses.  Why,  there  are  hundreds  of  trades 
in  this  great  neglected  city  of  East  London,  of  which 
we  know  nothing.  You  see  the  manufacturers.  Here 
they  are  with  their  wives,  and  their  sons,  and  their 
daughters;  they  all  lend  a  hand,  and  between  them  the 
thing  is  made." 

"And  are  they  discontented?"  asked  Angela  with 
persistence. 

"  Not  they;  they  get  as  much  happiness  as  the  money 
will  run  to.  At  the  same  time,  if  the  Palace  of  Delight 
were  once  built " 

"Ah!"  cried  Angela  with  a  sigh.  "The  Palace  of 
Delight;  the  Palace  of  Delight!  We  must  have  it,  if  it 
is  only  to  make  the  people  discontented." 

They  walked  home  presently,  and  in  the  evening  they 
played  together,  one  or  two  of  the  girls  being  present, 
in  the  "drawing-room."  The  music  softens — Angela 
repented  her  coldness  of  the  afternoon.  When  the 
girls  were  gone,  and  they  were  walking  side  by  side 
beneath  moonlight  on  the  quiet  green,  she  made  shyly 
a  little  attempt  at  compensation. 

"  If, "  she  said,  "  you  should  find  work  here  in  Step- 
ney, you  would  be  w^illing  to  stay?" 

"I  would  stay,"  he  replied,  "if  you  bid  me  stay — or 
go,  if  3-0U  bid  me  go." 

"I  M'ould  bid  you  stay,"  she  replied,  speaking  as 
clearly  and  as  firmly  as  she  could,  "  because  I  like  your 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  161 

society,  and  because  you  have  been,  and  will  still  be,  I 
hope,  very  helpful  to  us.  But  if  I  bid  you  stay,"  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  it  must  be  on  no  mis- 
understanding. " 

"I  am  your  servant,"  he  said,  with  a  little  agitation 
in  his  voice.  "  I  understood  nothing  but  what  j^ou  wish 
me  to  understand." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    SPLENDID    OFFER, 

It  was  a  strange  coincidence  that  only  two  days  after 
this  conversation  with  Miss  Kennedy,  Harry  received 
his  first  offer  of  emploj^ment. 

It  came  from  the  brewery,  and  was  in  the  first  in- 
stance a  mere  note  sent  by  a  clerk  inviting  "H.  Gos- 
lett"  to  call  at  the  accountant's  office  at  ten  in  the 
morning.  The  name,  standing  bare  and  naked  by  it- 
self, without  any  preliminary  title  of  respect — Mister, 
Master,  or  Sieur — presented,  Harry  thought,  a  very 
miserable  appearance.  Perhaps  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find  a  readier  method  of  insvilting  a  man  than  to  hurl 
his  own  name  at  his  head.  One  may  understand  how 
Louis  Capet  must  have  felt  when  thus  reduced  to  a 
plain  simplicity. 

"  What  on  earth,"  Harry  asked,  forgetting  his  trade, 
"can  they  want  with  meV" 

In  business  houses,  working-men,  even  of  the  gentle 
craft  of  cabinet-making,  generall}'  carry  with  them 
tools,  sometimes  wear  an  apron,  always  have  their 
trousers  turned  up,  and  never  wear  a  collar — using,  in- 
stead, a  red  muffler,  which  keeps  the  throat  warmer, 
and  does  not  so  readily  show  the  effect  of  London  fog 
and  smoke.  Also,  some  of  their  garments  are  made  of 
corduroy  and  their  jackets  have  bulging  pockets,  and 
their  hats  not  unfrequently  have  a  pipe  stuck  into  them. 
This  young  working-man  repaired  to  the  tr3'sting-place 
in  the  eas}'  attire  in  which  he  was  wont  to  roam  about 
the  bowers  of  the  East  End.  That  is  to  say,  he  looked 
like  a  carelessly-dressed  gentleman. 

Harry  found  at  the  office  his  uncle,  Mr.  Bunker,  who 
snorted  when  he  saw  his  nephew. 
11 


163.         ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN, 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked.  "  Can't  you 
waste  your  time  and  bring  disgrace  on  a  hard-work- 
ing uncle  outside  the  place  where  he  is  known  and 
respected?" 

Harry  sighed. 

"Few  of  us,"  he  said,  "sufficiently  respect  their 
uncles.     And  with  such  an  uncle — ah  !" 

What  more  might  have  passed  between  them,  I  know 
not.  Fortunately,  at  this  point,  they  were  summoned 
to  the  presence  of  the  chief  accountant. 

He  knew  Mr.  Bunker  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

"Is  this  your  nephew,  Mr.  Bunker?"  he  asked,  look- 
ing curiously  at  the  very  handsome  young  fellow  who 
stood  before  him  with  a  careless  air. 

"  Yes ;  he's  mv  nephew ;  at  least,  he  says  so,"  said 
Mr.  Bunker  surlil}'.  "Perhaps,  sir,  you  wouldn't  mind 
telling  him  what  you  want,  and  letting  him  go.  Then 
we  can  get  to  business." 

"  My  business  is  with  both  of  you." 

"Both  of  us?"  Mr.  Bunker  looked  uneasy.  What 
business  could  that  be  in  which  he  was  connected  with 
his  nephew? 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  read  a  portion  of  a  letter  re- 
ceived by  me  yesterday  from  Miss  Messenger.  That 
portion  which  concerns  you,  Mr.  Bunker,  is  as  follows." 

Rather  a  remarkable  letter  had  been  received  at  the 
brewery  on  the  previous  day  from  Miss  Messenger. 
It  was  remarkable,  and,  indeed,  disquieting,  because  it 
showed  a  disposition  to  interfere  in  the  management  of 
the  great  concern,  and  the  interference  of  a  young  lady 
in  the  brewery  boded  ill. 

The  chief  brewer  and  the  chief  accountant  read  it 
together.  They  were  a  grave  and  elderly  pair,  both  in 
their  sixties,  who  had  been  regarded  by  the  late  Mr. 
Messenger  as  mere  boys.     For  he  was  in  the  eighties. 

"  Yes, "  said  the  chief  brewer,  as  his  colleague  read 
the  missive  with  a  sigh,  "  I  know  what  you  would  sny. 
It  is  not  the  thing  itself;  the  thing  is  a  small  thing;  the 
man  may  even  be  worth  his  paj^ ;  but  it  is  the  spirit  of 
the  letter,  the  spirit,  that  concerns  me." 

"  It  is  the  spirit,"  echoed  the  chief  accountant. 

"Either,"  said  the  chief  brewer,  "we  rule  here,  or 
we  do  not." 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  .VEN  163 

"Certainly,"  said  the  chief  accountant,  "and  well 
put." 

"  If  we  do  not" — here  the  chief  brewer,  rapped  the 
middle  knuckle  of  the  back  of  his  left-hand  forefinger 
with  the  tip  of  his  right-hand  forefinger — "  if  we  do 
not,  what  then?" 

They  gazed  upon  each  other  for  a  moment  in  great 
sadness,  having  before  their  eyes  a  hazy  vision  in  which 
Miss  Messenger  walked  through  the  brewery,  putting 
down  the  mighty  and  lowering  salaries.  A  grateful 
reward  for  long  and  faithful  services !  At  the  thought 
of  it,  these  two  servants  in  their  own  e3'es  became  pa- 
triarchal, as  regards  the  length  of  years  spent  in  the 
brewery,  and  their  long  services  loomed  before  them  as 
so  devoted  and  so  faithful  as  to  place  them  above  the 
rewarding  power  of  any  salary. 

The  chief  accountant  was  a  tall  old  gentleman,  and 
lie  stood  in  a  commanding  position  on  the  hearth-rug, 
the  letter  in  one  hand  and  a  pair  of  double  eye-glasses  in 
the  other. 

■'  You  will  see  from  "v^diat  I  am  about  to  read  to  you, 
Mr.  Bunker,"  he  began,  "that  j'our  services,  such^as 
they  were,  to  the  late  Mr.  Messenger  will  not  go  un- 
rewarded." 

Yery  good,  so  far;  but  what  had  his  reward  to  do 
with  his  nephew"? 

"  You  were  a  good  deal  with  Mr.  Messenger  at  one 
time,  I  remember,  Mr.  Bunker." 

"  I  was,  a  great  deal. " 

"  Quite  so — quite  so — and  you  assisted  him,  I  he- 
lieve,  with  his  house  property  and  tenants,  and  so 
forth." 

"I  did."  Mr.  Bunker  cleared  his  throat.  "I  did, 
and  often  Mr.  Messenger  would  talk  of  the  reward  I 
was  to  have  when  he  was  took. " 

"  He  left  you  nothing,  however,  possibly  because  he 
forgot.  You  ought,  therefore,  to  be  the  more  grateful 
to  Miss  Messenger  for  remembering  you ;  particularly 
as  the  young  lady  has  onlj"  heard  of  you  b}'  some  kind 
of  chance." 

"  Has  she — has  she — sent  something?"  he  asked. 

The  chief  accountant  smiled  graciously. 

"  She  has  sent  a  ver}'  considerable  present  indeed." 


164  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"All!"  Mr.  Bunker's  fingers  closed  as  if  they  were 
grappling  with  bank-notes. 

"Is  it,"  he  asked,  in  trembling  accents — "is  it  a 
check?" 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Bunker,  that  you  will  like  her  present 
better  than  a  check." 

"  There  can  be  nothing  better  than  one  of  Miss  Mes- 
senger's checks,"  he  replied  gallantl}'.  "  Nothing  in  the 
world,  except,  perhaps,  one  that's  bigger.  I  suppose 
it's  notes,  then?" 

"Listen,  Mr.  Bunker 

"'Considering  the  various  services  rendered  to  my 
grandfather  by  Mr.  Bunker,  with  whom  I  believe  you 
are  acquainted,  in  connection  with  his  property  in 
Stepney  and  the  neighborhood,  I  am  anxious  to  make 
him  some  substantial  present.  I  have  therefore  caused 
inquiries  to  be  made  as  to  the  best  way  of  doing  this. 
I  learn  that  he  has  a  nephew  named  Henry  Goslett,  by 
trade  a  cabinet-maker'  "  [here  Mr.  Bunker  made  violent 
efforts  to  suppress  emotion],  "'who  is  out  of  employ- 
ment. I  propose  that  he  should  be  received  into  the 
brewery,  that  a  shop  with  all  that  he  wants  should  be 
fitted  up  for  him,  and  that  he  attend  daily  until  any- 
thing better  offers,  to  do  all  that  may  be  required  in  his 
trade.  I  should  wish  him  to  be  independent  as  regards 
time  of  attendance,  and  that  he  should  be  paid  at  the 
proj^er  rate  for  piece-work.  In  this  way,  I  hope  ]\Ir. 
Bunker  may  feel  that  he  has  received  a  reward  more 
appropriate  to  the  friendly  relations  which  seem  to 
has-e  existed  between  my  grandfather  and  himself  than 
a  mere  matter  of  money,  and  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to 
gratify  him  in  finding  honorable  employment  for  one 
who  is,  I  trust,  a  deserving  3'oung  man.'  " 

"Then,  Mr.  Bunker,  there  is  this — why,  good  heav- 
ens! man,  what  is  the  matter?" 

For  Mr.  Bunker  was  purple  with  wrath.  Three 
times  he  essayed  to  speak,  three  times  he  failed.  Then 
he  put  on  his  hat  and  fled  precipitately. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  the  chief 
accountant. 

The  young  workman  laughed. 

"  I  believe,"  he  replied,  "that  my  uncle  expected  the 
check. " 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MKX.  ICr, 

"Well,  well!"  the  chief  accountant  waved  his  hf.ncl, 
"  There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  You  will  find  your 
shop;  one  of  the  porters  will  take  you  to  it;  you  vvill 
have  all  the  broken  things  that  used  to  be  sent  out,  kept 
for  you  to  mend,  and — and — all  that.  What  we  want 
a  cabinet-maker  for  in  the  brewery,  I  do  not  under- 
stand. That  will  do.  Stay — you  seem  a  rather  su- 
perior kind  of  workman." 

"  I  have  had  an  education,"  said  Harry,  blushing. 

"Good;  so  long  as  it  has  not  made  you  discontented. 
Remember  that  we  want  sober  and  steady  men  in  this 
place,  and  good  work." 

"  I  am  not  certain  3'et,"  said  Harry,  "that  I  shall  be 
able  to  take  the  place." 

"  Not  take  the  place?  Not  take  a  place  in  IMessenger's 
brewery?  Do  you  know  that  ever}" body  who  conducts 
himself  well  here  is  booked  for  life?  Do  you  know 
what  you  are  throwing  away?  Not  take  the  place? 
Why,  you  may  be  cabinet-maker  for  the  brewery  till 
the}^  actually  pension  ^-ou  off." 

"  I  am — I  am  a  little  uncertain  in  my  designs  for  the 
future.     I  must  ask  for  a  day  to  consider." 

"  Take  a  day.  If,  to-morrow,  you  do  not  present 
yourself  in  the  workshop  prepared  for  you,  I  shall  tell 
Miss  Messenger  that  you  have  refused  her  offer." 

Harry  walked  away  with  a  quickened  pulse.  So  far 
he  had  been  posturing  only  as  a  cabinet-maker.  At 
the  outset  he  had  no  intention  of  doing  more  than  post- 
ure for  a  while,  and  then  go  back  to  civilized  life  with 
no  more  difference  than  that  caused  b}-  the  revelation 
of  his  parentage.  As  for  doing  work,  or  taking  a  wage, 
that  was  very,  very  far  from  his  mind.  Yet  now  he 
must  either  accept  the  place,  with  the  pay,  or  he  must 
stand  confessed  a  humbug.  There  remained  but  one 
other  waj'-,  which  was  a  worse  wa}'  than  the  other  two. 
He  might,  that  is  to  say,  refuse  the  work  without  as- 
signing any  reason.  He  would  then  appear  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  lazy  and  worthless  workman — an  idle  ap- 
})rentice,  indeed;  one  who  would  do  no  work  while 
there  was  money  in  the  locker  for  another  day  of  sloth. 
With  that  face  could  he  stand  before  Miss  Kennedy, 
revealed  in  these — his  true  colors? 

It  was  an  excellent  opportunity  for  flight.     That  oc- 


166  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEX. 

curred  to  liim.  But  flight — and  after  that  last  talk 
with  the  woman  whose  voice,  whose  face,  whose  gra- 
ciousness  had  so .  filled  his  head  and  inflamed  his  im- 
agination. 

He  walked  away,  considering. 

When  a  man  is  very  much  perplexed,  he  often  does  a 
great  many  little  odd  things.  Thus,  Harry  began  by 
looking  into  the  office  wdiere  his  cousin  sat. 

Josephus'  desk  was  in  the  warmest  juirt  of  the  room, 
near  the  fire — so  much  jn-omotion  he  had  received.  He 
sat  among  half  a  dozen  lads  of  seventeen  or  twenty  years 
of  age,  who  did  the  mechanical  wtn-k  of  making  entries 
in  the  books.  This  he  did,  too,  and  had  done  every 
day  for  forty  years.  Beside  him  stood  a  great  iron 
sate,  where  the  books  were  put  away  at  night.  The 
door  was  open.  Harry  looked  in,  caught  the  eye  of  his 
cousin,  nodded  encouragingly,  and  went  on  his  way,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

When  he  came  to  Mrs.  Bormalack's  he  went  in  there 
too.  and  found  Lord  Davenant  anxiously  waiting  for 
the  conduct  of  the  case  to  be  resumed,  in  order  that  he 
might  put  up  his  feet  and  take  his  morning  nap. 

"This  is  my  last  morning,"  Harry  said.  "As  for 
your  case,  old  boy,  it  is  as  complete  as  I  can  make  it, 
and  wo  had  better  send  it  in  as  soon  as  we  can,  ujiless 
you  can  find  any  more  evidence. " 

"No — no,"  said  his  lordship,  wdio  found  this  famil- 
iarity a  relief  after  .the  stately  enjoyment  of  the  title, 
"  there  will  be  no  more  evidence.  Well,  if  there's  noth- 
ing more  to  be  done,  Mr.  Goslett,  I  think  I  will" — here 
ho  lifted  his  feet — "  and  if  you  see  Clara  Martha,  tell 
her  that— that " 

Here  he  fell  asleep. 

It  was  against  the  rules  to  visit  the  Dressmakers' 
Association  in  the  morning  or  afternoon.  Harry  there- 
fore \vent  to  the  room  where  he  had  fitted  his  lathe, 
and  began  to  occupy  himself  with  the  beautiful  cabinet 
he  M'as  making  for  Miss  Kennedy.  But  he  was  rest- 
less ;  he  was  on  the  eve  of  a  very  important  step.  To 
take  a  place,  to  be  actually  paid  for  piece-work,  is,  if 
you  please,  a  very  different  thing  from  pretending  to 
have  a  trade. 

Was  he  prepared  to  give  u[)  the  life  of  culture? 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  JMEX.  167 

He  sat  do^^^l  and  thought  what  such  a  surrender 
would  mean. 

First,  there  would  be  no  club ;  none  of  the  pleasant 
dinners  at  the  little  tables  with  one  or  two  of  his  own 
friends;  no  easy-chair  in  the  smoking-room  for  a  wet 
afternoon ;  none  of  the  talk  with  men  who  are  actually 
in  the  ring — political,  literary,  artistic,  and  dramatic, 
none  of  the  pleasant  consciousness  that  you  are  behind 
the  scenes,  which  is  enjoyed  by  so  many  young  fellows 
who  belong  to  good  clubs.  The  club  in  itself  would  be 
a  great  thing  to  surrender. 

Next,  there  would  be  no  society. 

He  was  at  that  age  when  societj^  means  the  presence 
of  beautiful  girls ;  therefore,  he  loved  society,  whether 
in  the  form  of  a  dance,  or  a  dinner,  or  an  at-home,  or 
an  afternoon,  or  a  garden-party,  or  any  other  gathering 
where  young  people  meet  and  exchange  those  ideas 
which  they  fondly  imagine  to  be  original.  Well,  he 
must  never  think  any  more  of  society.  That  was 
closed  to  him. 

ISText,  he  must  give  up  most  of  the  accomplishments, 
graces,  arts,  and  skill  which  he  had  acquired  by  dint  of 
great  assiduity  and  much  practice.  Billiards,  at  which 
he  could  hold  his  own  against  most ;  fencing,  at  which 
he  was  capable  of  becoming  a  professor ;  shooting,  in 
which  he  was  ready  to  challenge  any  American ;  rid- 
ing, the  talking  of  different  languages — what  would  it 
help  him  now  to  be  a  master  in  these  arts?  They  must 
all  go ;  for  the  future  he  would  have  to  work  nine 
hours  a  day  for  tenpence  an  hour,  which  is  two  pound 
a  week,  allowing  for  Saturday  afternoon.  There  would 
simply  be  no  time  for  practising  any  single  one  of 
these  "things,  even  if  he  could  afford  the  purchase  of  the 
instruments  required. 

Again,  he  would  have  to  grieve  and  disappoint  the 
kindest  man  in  the  whole  world — Lord  Jocelyn. 

I  think  it  speaks  well  for  this  young  man  that  one 
thing  did  not  trouble  him — the  question  of  eating  and 
drinking.  He  would  dine  no  more;  working-men  do 
not  dine — they  stoke.  He  would  drink  no  more  wine ; 
well,  Harry  found  beer  a  most  excellent  and  delicious 
beverage,  particularly  when  you  get  it  unadulterated. 

Could  he  give  up  all  these  things?     He  could   not 


168  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  3IEX. 

conceive  it  possible,  you  see,  that  a  man  should  go  and 
become  a  workman,  receiving  a  wage  and  obeying  orders, 
and  afterward  resume  his  old  place  among  gentlemen, 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Indeed,  it  would  require 
a  vast  amount  of  explanation. 

Then  he  began  to  consider  what  he  would  get  if  he 
remained. 

One  thing  only  would  reward  him.  He  was  so  far 
gone  in  love,  that  for  this  girl's  sake  he  would  renounce 
everything  and  become  a  workman  indeed. 

He  could  not  work ;  the  quiet  of  the  room  oppressed 
him ;  he  must  be  up  and  moving  wliile  this  struggle 
went  on. 

Then  he  thought  of  his  uncle  Bunker  and  laughed,  re- 
membering his  discomfiture  and  wrath.  While  he  was 
laughing  the  door  opened,  and  the  very  man  appeared. 

He  had  lost  his  purple  hue,  and  was  now,  in  fact, 
rather  pale,  and  his  cheeks  looked  flabb3^ 

"  Nephew, "  he  said  huskily,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  this  thing;  give  over  sniggerin',  and  talk  serioiia 
now." 

"  Let  us  be  serious." 

"  This  is  a  most  dreadful  mistake  of  Miss  Messen- 
ger's; you  know  at  first  I  thought  it  must  be  a  joke. 
That  is  wh)^  I  went  away ;  men  of  my  age  and  respect- 
ability don't  like  jokes.  But  it  was  no  joke.  I  see  now 
it  is  just  a  mere  dreadful  mistake  which  you  can  set 
right." 

"  How  can  I  set  it  right?" 

"  To  be  sure,  I  could  do  it  myself,  very  easily.  I 
liave  only  got  to  write  to  her,  and  tell  her  that  3'ou've 
got  no  character,  and  nobody  knows  if  you  know  vour 
trade." 

"  I  don't  think  that  would  do,  because  I  might  write 
as  well " 

"  The  best  plan  would  be  for  5'ou  to  refuse  the  sit- 
uation and  go  away  again.  Look  here,  boy ;  you  come 
from  no  one  knows  where;  a'ou  live  no  one  knows  how; 
you  don't  do  any  work;  my  impression  is  3'ou  don't 
want  any,  and  you've  only  come  to  see  what  you  can 
borrow  or  steal.  That's  my  opinion.  Now,  don't  let's 
argue,  but  just  listen.  If  you'll  go  away  quieth%  with- 
out  any  fuss,    just   telling  them   at  the  brewery  that 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEX.  Ifll) 

you've  got  to  go,  I'll  give  you — yes — I'll  give  you — • 
twenty  pounds  down !     There  I" 

"  Very  liberal  indeed !     But  I  am  afraid " 

"  I'll  make  it  twent3'^-five.  A  man  of  spirit  can  do 
anything  with  twenty-five  pounds  down.  Why,  he 
might  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  world.  If  I  were  j^ou 
I'd  go  there.  Large  openings  there  for  a  lad  of  spirit 
— large  openings!  Twenty-five  pounds  down,  on  the 
nail. " 

*'  It  seems  a  generous  offer,  still -" 

_  "Nothing,"  Mr.  Bunker  went  on,  "has  gone  well 
since  you  came.  There's  this  dreadful  mistake  of  Miss 
Messenger's;  then  that  Miss  Kennedy's  job.  I  didn't 
make  anj-thing  out  of  thatcompared  with  what  I  might, 
and  there's  the "  He  stopped,  because  he  was  think- 
ing of  the  houses. 

"  I  ivant  you  to  go,"  he  added  almost  plaintively. 

"  And  that,  very  much,  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I 
want  to  stay.  Because,  you  see,  you  have  not  yet  an- 
swered a  question  of  mine.  What  did  you  get  for  me 
when  you  traded  me  awaj^?" 

For  the  second  time  his  question  jDroduced  a  very 
remarkable  effect  upon  the  good  man. 

When  he  had  gone,  slamming  the  door  behind  him, 
Harry  smiled  sweetly. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  "that  he  has  done  'something,' 
as  ihej  call  it.  Bunker  is  afraid.  And  I — yes — I  shall 
find  it  out  and  terrify  him  still  more.  But,  in  order  to 
find  it  out,  I  must  stay.  And  if  I  stay,  I  must  be  a 
workman.  And  wear  an  apron!  And  a  brown-paper 
cap!  No.  I  draw  the  line  above  aprons.  No  con- 
sideration shall  induce  me  to  wear  an  apron.  Not  evea 
— no — not  if  she  were  to  make  the  apron  a  condition  of 
marriage." 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

Harry's   decision. 

He  spent  the  afternoon  wandering  about  the  streets 
of  Stepney,  full  of  the  new  thought  that  here  might  be 
his  future  home.  This  reflection  made  him  regard  the 
place  from  quite  a  novel  point  of  view.     As  a  mere  out- 


irO  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

sider,  he  had  looked  upon  the  place  critically,  with 
amusement,  with  pity,  with  horror  (in  rainy  weather), 
Avith  wonder  (in  sunshiny  days).  He  was  a  spectator, 
while  before  his  eyes  were  plaj'ed  as  man}^  little  come- 
dies, comediettas,  or  tragedies  or  melodramas  as  there 
were  inhabitants.  But  no  farces,  he  remarked,  and  no 
burlesques.  The  life  of  industry  contains  no  elements 
of  farce  or  of  burlesque.  But  if  he  took  this  decisive 
step  he  would  have  to  look  u])on  the  East  End  from  an 
inside  point  of  view ;  he  would  be  himself  one  of  the 
actors ;  he  would  play  his  own  little  comedy.  There- 
fore he  must  introduce  the  emotion  of  sympathy,  and 
suppress  the  critical  attitude  altogether. 

There  was  once  an  earl  who  went  awaj'  and  became 
a  sailor  before  the  mast;  he  seems  to  have  enjoyed 
sailoring  better  than  legislating,  but  was,  by  accident, 
inghjriouslv  drowned  while  so  engaged.  There  was 
also  the  Honorable  Timoth}'-  Clitheroe  Davenant,  who 
was  also  supposed  to  be  drowned,  but  in  reality  exer- 
cised until  his  death,  and  apparently  with  happiness, 
the  craft  of  wheelwright.  There  was  another  unfor- 
tunate nobleman,  well  known  to  fame,  who  became  a 
butcher  in  a  colony,  and  liked  it.  Precedents  enough 
of  voluntary  descent  and  eclipse,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
involuntary  obscurations,  as  when  an  emigre  had  to 
teach  dancing,  or  the  son  of  a  royal  duke  was  fain  to 
become  a  village  schoolmaster.  These  historical  par- 
allels pleased  Harry's  fancy  until  he  recollected  that 
he  was  himself  only  a  son  of  the  people,  and  not  of 
noble  descent,  so  that  they  reall}^  did  not  bear  upon  his 
case,  and  he  could  find  not  one  single  precedent  in  the 
whole  histor}'  parallel  with  himself.  "Mine,"  he  said, 
formulating  the  thing,  "  is  a  very  remarkable  and  un- 
usual case.  Here  is  a  man  brought  up  to  believe  him- 
self of  gentle  birth  and  educated  as  a  gentleman, 
so  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  most  liberal  training  of 
a  gentleman  that  he  has  not  learned,  and  no  accom- 
plishment which  becomes  a  gentleman  that  he  has  not 
acquired.  Then  he  learns  that  he  is  not  a  gentleman 
by  birth,  and  that  he  is  a  pauper;  wherefore,  why  not 
honest  work?  Work  is  noble,  to  be  sure,  especially  if 
you  get  the  kind  of  work  jou  like,  and  please  yourself 
about  the  time  of  doing  it;    nothing  could  be  a  more 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  171 

noble  spectacle  than  that  of  myself  working  at  the  lathe 
for  nothing,  in  the  old  cla3's ;  would  it  be  quite  as  noble 
at  the  brewery,  doing  pie je- work?" 

These  reflections,  this  putting  of  the  case  to  himself, 
this  grand  dubiety,  occuj)ied  the  whole  afternoon. 
AVhen  the  evening  came,  and  it  was  time  for  him  to 
present  himself  in  the  drawing-room,  he  was  no  fur- 
ther advanced  toward  a  decision. 

The  room  looked  bright  and  restful ;  wherever  An- 
gela went,  she  was  accompanied  and  surrounded  by  an 
atmosphere  of  refinement.  Those  who  conversed  with 
her  became  infected  with  her  culture;  therefore,  the 
place  was  like  any  dravving-room  at  the  West  End, 
save  for  the  furniture,  which  was  simple.  Ladies 
would  have  noticed,  even  in  such  little  things,  in  the 
way  in  which  the  girls  sat  and  carried  themselves,  a 
note  of  difference.  To  Harry  these  minuticB  were  un- 
known, and  he  saw  only  a  room  full  of  girls  quietly 
happy  and  apparently  well-bred;  some  were  reading; 
some  were  talking,  one  or  two  were  "  making"  some- 
thing for  themselves,  though  their  busy  fingers  had 
been  at  work  all  da}'.  Nell}'  and  Miss  Kennedy  were 
listening  to  the  captain,  who  was  telling  a  3'arn  of  his 
old  East  Indiaman.  The  three  made  a  pretty  group, 
Miss  Kennedy  seated  on  a  low  stool  at  the  captain's 
knee,  while  the  old  man  leaned  forward  in  his  arm- 
chair, his  daughter  beside  him  watching,  in  her  affec- 
tionate and  pretty  way,  the  face  of  her  patron. 

The  quiet,  peaceful  air  of  the  room,  the  happ}^  and 
contented  faces  which  before  had  been  so  harassed  and 
worn,  struck  the  j^oung  man's  heart.  Part  of  this  had 
been  his  doing ;  could  he  go  away  and  leave  the  brave 
girl  who  headed  the  little  enterprise  to  the  tender  mer- 
cies of  a  Bunker?  The  thought  of  what  he  was  throw- 
ing up — the  club-life,  the  art-life,  the  literary  life,  the 
holiday-time,  the  delightful  roving  in  foreign  lands, 
which  he  should  enjoy  no  more — all  seemed  insignificant 
considered  beside  this  haven  of  rest  and  peace  in  the 
troubled  waters  of  the  East  End.  He  was  no  philan- 
thropist ;  the  cant  of  platforms  was  intolerable  to  him ; 
yet  he  was  thinking  of  a  step  which  meant  giving  up 
his  own  hap]>iness  for  that  of  others ;  with,  of  course,  the 
constant  societv  of  the  woman  he  loved.     Without  that 


172  ALL  SORTS  AND  COyDITIONS  OF  MEX. 

compensation  the  sacrifice  would  be  impossible.  Miss 
Kennedy  looked  np  and  nodded  to  him  kindly,  motion- 
ing him  not  to  interrupt  the  story,  which  the  captain 
presently  finished. 

Then  they  had  a  little  music  and  a  little  playing,  and 
there  was  a  little  dancing — all  just  as  usual ;  a  quiet, 
pleasant  evening ;  and  they  went  away. 

"You  are  silent  to-night,  Mr.  Goslett,"  said  An- 
gela, as  they  took  their  customary  walk  in  the  quiet 
little  garden  called  Stepney  Green. 

"Yes.     I  am  like  the  parrot;  I  think  the  more." 

"What  is  in  your  mind?" 

"  This :  I  have  had  an  offer — an  offer  of  work — from 
the  brewery.  Miss  Messenger  herself  sent  the  offer, 
which  I  am  to  accept  or  to  refuse  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"  An  offer  of  work?  I  congratulate  j^ou.  Of  course 
you  will  accept?"  She  looked  at  him  sharpl}',  even 
suspiciously. 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"You  have  forgotten,"  she  said — in  other  girls  the 
words  and  the  tone  of  her  voice  would  have  sounded 
lilvc  an  encouragement — "you  have  forgotten  what 
you  said  only  last  Sunday  evening." 

"  No :  I  have  not  forgotten.  What  I  said  last  Sunday 
evening  only  increases  my  embarrassment.  I  did  not 
expect,  then — I  did  not  think  it  possible  that  any  work 
here  would  be  offered  to  me." 

"  Is  the  pay  insufficient?" 

"No:  the  pay  is  to  be  at  the  usual  market-rate." 

"  Are  the  hours  too  long?" 

"  I  am  to  please  myself.  It  seems  as  if  the  young 
lady  had  done  her  best  to  make  me  as  independent  as  a 
man  who  works  for  money  can  be." 

"  Yet  you  hesitate.     Why?" 

He  was  silent — thinking  what  he  should  tell  her. 
The  whole  truth  would  have  been  best ;  but  then,  one 
so  seldom  tells  the  whole  truth  about  anj^thing,  far  less 
about  one's  self.  He  could  not  tell  her  that  he  had  been 
masquerading  all  the  time,  after  so  many  protestations 
of  being  a  real  working-man. 

"  Is  it  that  you  do  not  like  to  make  friends  among 
the  East  End  workmen?" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  173 

"No."  He  could  answer  this  with  truth.  "It  is  not 
that.  The  working-men  here  are  better  than  I  expected 
to  find  them.  They  are  more  sensible,  more  self-re- 
liant, and  less  dangerous.  To  be  sure,  they  profess  to 
entertain  an  unreasoning  dislike  for  rich  people,  and,  I 
believe,  think  that  their  lives  are  entirely  spent  over 
oranges  and  skittles.  I  wish  they  had  more  knowledge 
of  books,  and  could  be  got  to  think  in  some  elemental 
fashion  about  art.  I  wish  they  had  a  better  sense  of 
beauty,  and  I  wish  thej'  could  be  got  to  cultivate  some 
of  the  graces  of  life.  You  shall  teach  them.  Miss  Ken- 
nedy. Also,  I  wish  that  tobacco  was  not  their  only 
solace.  I  am  very  much  interested  in  them.  That  is 
not  the  reason." 

"  If  5'ou  please  to  tell  me "  she  said. 

"  Well,  then"— he  would  tell  that  fatal  half-truth— 
"the  reason  is  this;  you  know  that  I  have  had  an  edu- 
cation above  what  fortune  intended  for  me  when  she 
made  me  the  son  of  Sergeant  Goslett." 

"I  know,"  she  replied.  "It  was  my  case,  as  well; 
we  are  companions  in  this  great  happiness." 

"The  man  who  conferred  this  benefit  upon  me,  the 
best  and  kindest-hearted  man  in  the  world,  to  whom  I 
am  indebted  for  more  than  I  can  tell  5'ou,  is  willing  to 
do  more  for  me.  If  I  please,  I  may  live  with  him  in 
idleness." 

"  You  may  live  in  idleness?  That  must  be,  indeed, 
a  tempting  offer !" 

"Idleness,"  he  replied,  a  little  hurt  at  her  contempt 
for  what  certainly  was  a  temptation  for  him,  "does  not 
alwavs  mean  doing  nothing." 

"What  would  you  do,  then?" 

"  There  is  the  life  of  culture  and  art " 

"  Oh,  no !"  she  replied.  "  Would  you  really  like  to 
become  one  of  those  poor  creatures  who  think  they  lead 
lives  devoted  to  art?  Would  j'ou  like  to  grow  silly 
over  blue  china,  to  quarrel  about  color,  to  worship  form 
in  poetry,  to  judge  everything  b}'  the  narrow  rules  of 
the  latest  pedantic  fashion?" 

"You  know  this  art  world,  then?" 

"  I  know  something  of  it,  I  have  heard  of  it.  Never 
mind  me— think  of  yourself.  You  would  not,  you  could 
not,  condemn  yourself  to  such  a  life." 


174  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  Not  to  such  a  life  as  you  picture.  But,  consider, 
I  am  offered  a  life  of  freedom  instead  of  servitude." 

"  Servitude  I  Why,  we  are  all  servants  one  of  the 
other.  Society  is  like  the  human  body,  in  which  all 
the  limbs  belong  to  each  other.  There  must  be  rich 
and  poor,  idlers  and  workers ;  we  depend  one  upon  the 
other ;  if  the  rich  do  not  work  with  and  for  the  poor, 
retribution  falls  upon  them.  The  poor  must  work  for 
the  rich,  or  they  will  starve;  poor  or  rich,  I  think  it  is 
better  to  be  poor ;  idler  or  worker,  I  know  it  is  better 
to  be  worker." 

He  thought  of  Lord  Jocelj'n ;  of  the  pleasant  cham- 
bers in  Piccadilly,  of  the  club,  of  his  own  friends,  of 
society,  of  little  dinners,  of  stalls  at  the  theatre ;  of  sup- 
pers among-  actors  and  actresses;  of  artists  and  the 
smoking-parties ;  of  the  men  who  write,  and  the  men 
who  talk,  and  the  men  who  know  everybody,  and  are 
full  of  stories ;  of  his  riding,  and  hunting,  and  shoot- 
ing; of  his  fencing,  and  billiards,  and  cards. 

All  these  things  passed  through  his  brain  swiftly,  in 
a  inoment.  And  then  he  thought  of  the  beautiful  wo- 
man beside  him,  whose  voice  was  the  sweetest  music 
to  him  that  he  had  ever  heard. 

"You  must  take  the  offer,"  she  went  on,  and  her 
words  fell  upon  his  ear  like  the  words  of  an  oracle  to  a 
Greek  in  doubt.  "  Work  at  the  brewery  is  not  hard. 
You  will  have  no  task-master  set  over  you ;  you  are 
free  to  go  and  come,  to  choose  your  own  time;  there 
will  be  in  so  great  a  place,  there  must  be,  work,  quite 
enough  to  occupy  your  time.  Give  up  yearning  after 
an  idle  life,  and  work  in  patience." 

"  Is  there  anything,"  he  said,  "  to  which  you  could  not 
persuade  me?" 

"  Oh,  not  for  me !"  she  replied  impatiently.  "  It  ie 
for  yourself.  You  have  your  life  before  you,  to  throw 
away  or  to  use.  Tell  me,"  she  hesitated  a  little;  "j^ou 
have  come  back  to  your  own  kith  and  kin,  after  many 
years.  They  were  strange  to  you  at  first,  all  these  peo- 
ple of  the  East  End — your  own  people.  Now  that  you 
know  them,  should  you  like  to  go  away  from  them,  al- 
together away  and  forget  them?  Could  j^ou  desert 
them?  You  know,  if  you  go,  that  you  will  desert 
them,  for  between  this  end  of  London  and  the  other 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITTOXS  OF  JIEN.  175 

there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed,  across  v.diicli  no  one  ever 
passes.  You  will  leave  us  aJtogether  if  you  leave  us 
now. " 

At  this  point  Harry  felt  the  very  strongest  desire  to 
make  it  clear  that  what  concerned  him  most  would  be 
the  leaving  her,  but  he  repressed  the  temptation  and 
merely  remarked  that,  if  he  did  desert  his  kith  and  kin, 
they  would  not  regret  him.  His  Uncle  Bunker,  he 
explained,  had  even  offered  him  tive-and-twenty  pounds 
to  go. 

"  It  is  not  that  you  have  done  anything,  you  know, 
except  to  help  us  in  our  little  experiment,"  said  Angela. 
"  But  it  is  what  you  may  do,  what  you  shall  do,  if  you 
remain." 

"What  can  I  do?" 

"  You  have  knowledge ;  you  have  a  voice ;  j'ou  have 
a  quick  eye  and  a  ready  tongue;  you  could  lead,  you 
could  preside.  Oh !  what  a  career  you  might  have  be- 
fore you !" 

"  You  think  too  well  of  me,  Miss  Kennedy.  I  am  a 
very  lazy  and  worthless  kind  of  man." 

"'Xo."  She  shook  her  head  and  smiled  superior.  "  I 
know  you  better  than  you  know  yourself.  I  have 
watched  you  for  these  months.  And  then  we  must 
not  forget,  there  is  our  Palace  of  Delight. " 

"  Are  we  millionaires?" 

"AVhy,  we  have  already  begun  it.  There  is  our 
drawing-room ;  it  is  only  a  few  weeks  old,  yet  see  what 
a  difference  there  is  already.  The  girls  are  happy; 
their  finer  tastes  are  awakened ;  their  natural  yearnings 
after  things  delightful  are  partly  satisfied ;  they  laugh 
and  sing  now;  they  run  about  and  play.  There  is  al- 
ready something  of  our  dream  realized.  Stay  with  us, 
and  we  shall  see  the  rest. " 

He  made  an  effort  and  again  restrained  himself. 

"I  stay,  then,"  he  said,  "for  your  sake — because  you 
command  me  to  stay." 

Had  she  done  well?  She  asked  herself  the  question 
in  the  shelter  of  her  bedroom,  with  great  doubt  and  anx- 
iety. This  young  workman,  who  might  if  he  chose  be 
a — well — yes — a  gentleman — quite  as  good  a  gentlernan 
as  most  of  the  men  who  pretend  to  the  title — was  going 
to  give  up  whatever  prospects  he  had  iu  the  world,  at 


176  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

her   bidding:,  and  for  her  sake.     For  her  sake!     Yet 
what  he  wished  was  impossible. 

What  reward,  then,  had  she  to  offer  him  that  would 
satisfy  him?  Nothing.  Staj^  he  was  only  a  man. 
One  i:)retty  face  was  as  good  as  another ;  he  was  struck 
with  hers  for  the  moment.  She  would  put  him  in  the 
waj'  of  being  attracted  by  another.  Yes :  that  would 
do.  This  settled  in  her  own  mind,  she  put  the  matter 
aside,  and,  as  she  was  very  sleep}',  she  only  murmured 
to  herself,  as  her  eyes  closed,  "Nelly  Sorensen." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

WHAT    LORD    JOCELYN    THOUGHT. 

The  subject  of  Angela's  meditations  was  not  where 
siie  thought  him,  in  his  own  bedroom.  When  he  left 
his  adviser,  he  did  not  go  in  at  once,  but  walked  once 
or  twice  up  and  down  the  pavement,  thinking.  What 
he  had  promised  to  do  was  nothing  less  than  to  reverse, 
altogether,  the  whole  of  his  promised  life;  and  this  is 
no  light  matter,  even  if  3'ou  do  it  for  love's  sweet  sake. 
And,  Miss  Kennedy  being  no  longer  with  him,  he  felt 
a  little  chilled  from  the  first  enthusiasm.  Presently  he 
looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was  still  early,  only  half -past 
ten. 

"  There  is  the  chance,"  he  said.  "  It  is  only  a  chance. 
He  generally  comes  back  somewhere  about  this  time." 

There  are  no  cabs  at  Stepne}^  but  there  are  tramways 
which  go  quite  as  fast,  and,  besides,  give  one  the  op- 
portunity of  exchanging  ideas  on  current  topics  with 
one's  travelling  companions.  Harry  jumped  into  one, 
and  sat  down  between  a  bibulous  old  gentleman,  who 
said  he  lived  in  Fore  Street,  but  had  for  the  moment 
mislaid  all  his  other  ideas,  and  a  lady  who  talked  to 
herself  as  she  carried  a  bundle.  She  was  rehearsing 
something  dramatic,  a  monologue,  in  which  she  was 
"  giving  it"  to  somebody  unknown.  And  she  was  so 
much  under  the  influence  and  emotion  of  imagination 
that  the  young  man  trembled  lest  he  might  be  mis- 
taken for  the  person  addressed.  However.  hajDpily, 
the  lady   so   far   restrained   herself,  and  Aldgate  was 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  177 

reached  in  peace.  There  he  took  a  hansom  and  drove 
to  Piccadilly. 

The  streets  looked  strange  to  him  after  his  three 
months'  absence;  the  lights,  the  crowds  on  the  pave- 
ments, so  different  from  the  East  End  crowd;  the  rush 
of  the  carriages  and  cabs  taking  the  people  home  from 
the  theatre,  filled  him  with  a  strange  longing.  He  had 
been  asleep ;  he  had  had  a  dream ;  there  was  no  Stepne}' ; 
there  was  no  Whitechapel  Road — a  strange  and  won- 
drous dream.  Miss  Kennedy  and  her  damsels  were 
only  a  part  of  this  vision.  A  beautiful  and  delightful 
dream.  He  was  back  again  in  Piccadill}^  and  all  was 
exactly  as  it  always  had  been.  So  far  all  was  exactly 
the  same,  for  Lord  Jocelyn  was  in  his  chamber  and 
alone. 

"You  are  come  back  to  me,  Harry?"  he  said,  holding 
the  young  man's  hand;  "you  have  had  enough  of  your 
cousins  and  the  Avorthy  Bunker.  Sit  down,  boy.  I 
heard  your  foot  on  the  stairs.  I  have  waited  for  it  a 
long  time.  Sit  down  and  let  me  look  at  3-ou.  To- 
morrow you  shall  tell  me  all  your  adventures." 

"It  ?'.s  comfortable,"  said  Harry,  taking  his  old  chair 
and  one  of  his  guardian's  cigarettes.  "  Yes,  Piccadilly 
is  better,  in  some  respects,  than  Whitechapel." 

"  And  there  is  more  comfort  the  higher  up  you  climb, 
eh?" 

"  Certainly,  more  comfort.  There  is  not,  I  am  sure, 
such  an  easy-chair  as  this  east  of  St.  Paul's." 

Then  they  were  silent,  as  becomes  two  men  who 
know  what  is  in  each  other's  heart,  and  wait  for  it  to 
be  said. 

"You  look  well,"  said  Harry  presently.  "Where 
did  you  spend  the  summer?" 

"Mediterranean.     Yacht.     Partridges." 

"  Of  course.     Do  you  stay  in  London  long?" 

And  so  on.  Playing  with  the  talk,  and  postponing 
the  inevitable,  Harrj'  learned  where  everA-body  had 
been,  and  who  was  engaged,  and  who  was  married, 
and  how  one  or  two  had  joined  the  majority  since  his 
departure.  He  also  heard  the  latest  scandal,  and  the 
current  talk,  and  what  had  been  done  at  the  club,  and 
who  had  been  blackballed,  with  divers  small  bits  of 
information  about  people  and  things.     And  he  took  up 


178  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

the  talk  in  the  old  manner,  and  fell  into  the  old  attitude 
of  mind  quite  naturally,  and  as  if  there  had  been  no 
break  at  all.  Presently  the  clock  pointed  to  one,  and 
Lord  Jocelyn  rose. 

"  W  e  will  talk  again  to-morrow,  Harry,  my  boy,  and 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  many  days  after  that.  I 
am  glad  to  have  you  back  again."  He  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"  Do  not  go  just  3"et,"  said  Harr}^  blushing  and  feel- 
ing guilty,  because  he  was  going  to  intiict  pain  on  one 
who  loved  him.     "  I  cannot  talk  with  you  to-morrow." 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Because — sit  down  again  and  listen — because  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  join  my  kith  and  kin  altogether, 
and  stay  among  them." 

"What?     Stay  among  them?" 

"  You  remember  what  j^ou  told  me  of  your  motive 
in  taking  me.  You  would  bring  up  a  boy  of  the  people 
like  a  gentleman.  You  would  educate  him  in  all  that 
a  gentleman  can  learn,  and  then  you  would  send  him 
back  to  his  friends,  whom  he  would  make  discontented, 
and  so  open  the  way  for  civilization." 

"  I  said  so — did  I?  Yes :  but  there  were  other  things, 
Harry.  You  forget  that  motives  are  always  mixed. 
There  was  affection  for  my  brave  sergeant  and  a  desire 
to  help  his  son;  there  were  all  sorts  of  things.  Be- 
sides, I  expected  that  you  would  take  a  rough  kind  of 
polish  only — like  nickel,  j^ou  know,  or  pewter — and  you 
turned  out  real  silver.  A  gentleman,  I  thought,  is  born, 
not  made.  This  proved  a  mistake.  The  puddle  blood 
Avould  show,  I  expected,  which  was  prejudice,  you  see, 
because  there  is  no  such  thing  as  puddle  blood.  Be- 
sides, I  thought  you  would  be  stupid  and  slow  to  pick 
up  ideas,  and  that  you  would  pick  up  only  a  few ;  sup- 
posing, in  my  ignorance,  that  all  persons  not  'born,'  as 
the  Germans  say,  must  be  stupid  and  slow." 

"  And  I  was  not  stupid?" 

"You?  The  brightest  and  cleverest  lad  in  the  whole 
world — you  stepped  into  the  place  I  made  for  you  as  if 
you  had  been  born  for  it.  Now  tell  me  why  you  wish 
to  step  out  of  it." 

"  Like  you,  sir  I  have  many  motives.  Partly,  I  am 
greatly  interested  in  my  own  people;  partly,  I  am  inter- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  179 

ested  in  the  place  itself  and  its  ways ;  partly,  I  am  told, 
and  I  believe,  that  there  is  a  great  deal  which  I  can  do 
there — do  not  laugh  at  nie." 

"  I  am  not  laughing,  Harry ;  I  am  only  astonished. 
Yes,  you  are  changed,  your  eyes  are  different,  jowv 
voice  is  different.     Go  on,  my  boy." 

"  I  do  not  think  there  is  much  to  sa}" — I  mean,  in  ex- 
planation. But  of  course  I  understand — it  is  a  part  of 
the  thing — that  if  I  stay  among  them  I  must  be  inde- 
pendent. I  could  no  longer  look  to  3'our  bounty,  which 
I  have  accepted  too  long.     I  must  work  for  my  living." 

"  Work !     And  what  will  you  do?" 

"  I  know  a  lot  of  things,  but  somehow  they  are  not 
wanted  at  Stepney,  and  the  only  thing  by  which  I  can 
make  money  seems  to  be  my  lathe — I  have  become  a 
cabinet-maker. " 

"Heavens!  You  have  become  a  cabinet-maker?  Do 
you  actually  mean,  Harry,  that  you  are  going  to  work 
— with  your  hands — for  mone}'?" 

"  Yes ;  with  my  hands.  I  shall  be  paid  for  my  work ; 
I  shall  live  by  my  work.     The  puddle  blood,  you  see." 

"  No,  no, "  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  "  there  is  no  proof  of 
puddle  blood  in  being  independent.  But  think  of  the 
discomfort  of  it." 

"  I  have  thought  of  the  discomfort.  It  is  not  really 
so  very  bad.  What  is  your  idea  of  the  life  I  shall  have 
to  live?" 

"  Why,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  with  a  shudder,  "  you  Vv'ill 
rise  at  six ;  you  will  go  out  in  working-clothes,  carry- 
ing your  tools,  and  with  your  apron  tied  round  and 
tucked  up  like  a  missionary  bishop  on  his  way  to  a 
confinuation.  You  will  find  j'ourself  in  a  workshop 
full  of  disagreeable  people,  who  pick  out  unpleasant 
adjectives  and  tack  them  on  to  everything,  and  whose 
views  of  life  and  habits  are — well,  not  your  own.  You 
will  have  to  smoke  pipes  at  a  street  corner  on  Sundays; 
3-our  tobacco  wall  be  bad ;  you  will  drink  bad  beer — 
Harry!  the  contemplation  of  the  thing  is  too  painful." 

Harry  laughed. 

''  The  reality  is  not  quite  so  bad,"  he  said.  "  Cabinet- 
makers are  excellent  fellows.  And  as  for  myself,  I 
shall  not  work  in  a  shop,  but  alone.  I  am  offered  the 
post  of  cabinet-maker  in  a  great  place  where  I  shall 


180  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

have  my  own  room  to  my;elf ,  and  can  please  my  own 
convenience  as  to  my  hours.  I  shall  earn  about  ten- 
pence  an  hour — say  seven  shillings  a  day,  if  I  keep  at  it." 

"If  he  keeps  at  it,"  murmured  Lord  Jocelyn,  "he 
will  make  seven  shillings  a  day." 

"  Dinner  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  of  course."  Harry 
went  on,  with  a  cheerful  smile.  "At  the  East  End 
everybody  stokes  at  one.  We  have  tea  at  five  and  sup- 
per when  we  can  get  it.     A  simpler  life  than  yours. " 

"Tins  is  a  programme  of  such  extreme  misery,"  said 
Lord  Jocelyn,  "that  your  explanations  are  quite  in- 
sufficient.    Is  there,  I  wonder,  a  woman  in  the  case?" 

Harry  blushed  violentl3^ 

"Tbere  is  a  woman,  then?"  said  his  guardian  tri- 
umphantly. "  There  always  is.  I  might  have  guessed 
it  from  the  beginning.  Come,  Harry,  tell  me  all  about 
it.  Is  it  serious?  Is  she — can  she  be — at  Whitechapel 
—a  lady?" 

"Yes,"  said  Harry,  "it  is  quite  true.  There  is  a 
woman,  and  I  am  in  love  with  her.  She  is  a  dress- 
maker. " 

"  Oh !" 

"And  a  lady." 

Lord  Jocelyn  said  nothing. 

"A  lady."  Harry  repeated  the  words,  to  show  that 
he  knew  wdiat  he  was  saj^ing.  "  But  it  is  no  use.  She 
won't  listen  to  me." 

"  That  is  more  remarkable  than  your  two  last  state- 
ments. Many  men  have  fallen  in  love  w4th  dress- 
makers, some  dressmakers  have  acquired  partiall}^  the 
manners  of  a  lad}- ;  but  that  any  dressmaker  should  re- 
fuse the  honorable  attentions  of  a  handsome  j^oung  fel- 
low like  3'ou,  and  a  gentleman,  is  inconceivable." 

"  A  cabinet-maker,  not  a  gentleman.  But  do  not  let 
us  talk  of  her,  if  you  please." 

Then  Lord  Jocelyn  proceeded,  with  such  eloquence 
as  was  at  his  command,  to  draw  a  picture  of  what  he 
was  throwing  away  compared  with  what  he  was  ac- 
cepting. There  was  a  universal  feeling,  he  assured 
his  ward,  of  sj' mpathy  with  him :  everybody  felt  that 
it  was  rough  on  such  a  man  as  himself  to  find  that  he 
was  not  of  illustrious  descent;  he  would  take  his  old 
place  in  society ;  all  his  old  friends  would  welcome  him 


ALL  SOm\^  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  181 

back  among  tliem,  with  much  more  to  the  same  pur- 
pose. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  their  con- 
versation ended  and  Lord  Jocelyn  went  to  bed  sorrow- 
ful, promising  to  renew  his  arguments  in  the  morning.  ' 
As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Harr}'  went  to  his  own  room^ 
and  put  together  a  few  little  trifles  belonging  to  the  past! 
which  he  thought  he  should  like.     Then  he  wrote  a  let- 
ter of  farewell  to  his  guardian,  promising  to  report  him- 
self from  time  to  time,  with  a  few  words  of  gratitude 
and  affection.     And   then  he  stole  quietly  down  the 
stairs  and  found  himself  in  the  open  street.     Like  a 
school-boy,  he  had  run  away. 

There  was  nobody  left  in  "^the  streets.  Half -past  four 
in  the  morning  is  almost  the  quietest  time  of  any ;  even 
the  burglar  has  gone  home,  and  it  is  too  early  for  any- 
thing but  the  market-garden  carts  on  their  way  to 
Covent  Garden.  He  strode  down  Piccadilly  and  across 
the  silent  Leicester  Square  into  the  Strand.  He  passed 
through  that  remarkable  thoroughfare,  and,  by  way  of 
Fleet  Street,  where  even  the  newspaper  ofBces  were"^  de- 
serted, the  leader-writers  and  the  editor  and  the  sub- 
editors all  gone  home  to  bed,  to  St.  Paul's.  It  was 
then  a  little  after  five,  and  there  was  alreadv  a  stir. 
An  occasional  footfall  along  the  principal  streets.  By 
the  time  he  got  to  the  Whitechapel  Road  there  were  a 
good  many  up  and  about,  and  before  he  reached  Step- 
ney Green  the  day's  work  was  beginning.  The  night 
had  gone  and  the  sun  was  rising,  for  it  was  six  o'clock 
and  a  cloudless  morning.  At  ten  he  presented  himself 
once  more  at  the  accountant's  office. 

"Well?"  asked  the  chief. 

"I  am  come,"  said  Harry,  "to  accept  Miss  Messen- 
ger's offer. " 

"  You  seem  pretty  independent.  However,  that  is  the 
way  with  3'ou  working-men  nowada3-s.  I  suppose  you 
don't  even  pretend  to  feel  any  gratitude?" 

"I  don't  pretend,"  said  Harry  pretty  hotlv,  "to  an- 
swer questions  outside  the  work  I  have  to  do." 

The  chief  looked  at  him  as  if  he  could,  if  he  wished, 
and  was  not  a  Christian,  annihilate  him. 

"Go,  young  man,"  he  said  presenth',  pointing  to  the 
door,   "  go  to  your  work.     Rudeness^  to  his  betters  a 


183  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

working-man  considers  due  to  himself,  I  suppose.  Go 
to  3"our  work." 

Harry  obeyed  without  a  word,  being  in  such  a  rage 
that  he  could  not  speak.  When  he  reached  his  work- 
shop, he  found  waiting  to  be  mended  an  office-stool 
with  a  broken  leg.  I  regret  to  report  that  this  unhappy 
stool  immediately  became  a  stool  with  four  broken  legs 
and  a  kicked-oLit  seat. 

Harry  was  for  the  moment  too  strong  for  the  furni- 
ture. 

Not  even  the  thought  of  Miss  Kennedy's  approbation 
could  bring  him  comfort.  He  was  an  artisan,  he 
worked  by  the  piece — that  was  nothing.  The  galling 
thing  was  to  realize  that  he  must  now  behave  to  certain 
classes  with  a  semblance  of  respect,  because  now  he  had 
his  "betters." 

The  day  before  he  was  a  gentleman  who  had  no  "  bet- 
ters." He  was  enriched  by  this  addition  to  his  posses- 
sions, and  yet  he  was  not  grateful. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   PALACE   OF   DELIGHT. 

There  lies  on  the  west  and  southwest  of  Stepney 
Green  a  triangular  district,  consisting  of  an  irregular 
four-sided  figure — what  Euclid  beautifully  calls  a  trape- 
zium— formed  by  the  Whitechapel  Road,  the  Commer- 
cial Road,  Stepney  Green,  and  High  Street,  or  Jamaica 
Street,  or  Jubilee  Street,  whichever  you  please  to  call 
your  frontier.  This  favored  spot  exhibits  in  perfection 
all  the  leading  features  which  characterize  the  great 
Joyless  Cit3^  It  is,  in  fact,  the  heart  of  the  East  End. 
Its  streets  are  mean  and  without  individualit}^  or  beau- 
ty; at  no  season  and  under  no  conditions  can  the}^  ever 
be  picturesque;  one  can  tell,  without  inquiring,  that 
the  lives  led  in  those  houses  are  all  after  the  same  mod- 
el, and  that  the  inhabitants  have  no  pleasures.  Every- 
thing that  goes  to  make  a  city,  except  the  means  of 
amusement,  is  to  be  found  here.  There  are  churches 
and  chapels — do  not  the  blackened  riiins  of  Whitechapel 
Church  stand  here?     There  are  superior  "  seminaries" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  1S3 

and  "academies,"  names  which  linger  here  to  show 
where  the  yearning  after  the  genteel  survives;  there  is 
a  board  school,  there  is  the  great  London  Hospital, 
there  are  almshouses,  there  are  even  squares  in  it — 
Sidney  Squai-e  and  Bedford  Square,  to  wit — but  there 
are  no  gardens,  avenues,  theatres,  art  galleries,  libra- 
ries, or  any  kind  of  amusement  whatever. 

The  leading  thoroughfare  of  this  quarter  is  named 
Oxford  Street,  which  runs  nearly  all  the  wa}''  from  the 
New  Road  to  Stepney  Church.  It  begins  well  with 
some  breadth,  a  church  and  a  few  trees  on  one  side,  and 
almshouses  with  a  few  trees  on  the  other.  This  prom- 
ise is  not  kept;  it  immediatel}^  narrows  and  becomes 
like  the  streets  which  branch  out  of  it,  a  double  row  of 
little  two-storied  hovises,  all  alike.  Apparenth",  they 
are  all  furnished  alike ;  in  each  ground-floor  front  there 
are  the  red  curtains  and  the  white  blind  of  respectabil- 
ity, with  the  little  table  bearing  something,  either  a 
basket  of  artificial  flowers,  or  a  big  Bible  or  a  vase,  or 
a  case  of  stuffed  birds  from  foreign  parts,  to  mark  the 
gentility  of  the  family.  A  little  farther  on,  the  houses 
begin  to  have  small  balconies  on  the  first  floor,  and  are 
even  more  genteel.  The  streets  which  run  off  north  and 
south  are  like  unto  it  but  meaner.  Now,  the  really  sad 
thing  about  this  district  is  that  the  residents  are  not 
the  starving  class,  or  the  vicious  class,  or  the  drinking 
class;  they  are  well-to-do  and  thriA'ing  people,  yet  they 
desire  no  happiness,  they  do  not  feel  the  lack  of  joy, 
they  live  in  meanness  and  are  content  therewith.  So 
that  it  is  emphaticall}'  a  representative  quarter  and  a  tj'pe 
of  the  East  End  generall}',  which  is  for  the  most  part 
respectable  and  whollj^  dull,  and  perfectly  contented 
never  to  know  what  pleasant  strolling  and  resting- 
places,  what  delightful  interests,  what  varied  occupa- 
tion, what  sweet  diversions  there  are  in  life. 

As  for  the  people,  the}'  follow  a  great  variety  of 
trades.  There  are  "  travelling  drapers"  in  abundance ; 
it  is,  in  fact,  the  chosen  quartier  of  that  romantic  fol- 
lowing; there  are  a  good  many  stevedores,  which  be- 
trays the  neighborhood  of  docks;  there  are  some  who 
follow  the  mysterious  calling  of  herbalist,  and  I  believe 
you  could  here  still  buy  the  materials  for  those  now  for- 
gotten delicacies,  saloop  and  tansy  pudding.    You  can 


184  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

at  least  purchase  medicines  for  any  disease  under  the 
sun  if  you  know  the  right  herbalist  to  go  to.  One  of 
them  is  a  medium  as  well ;  and  if  you  call  on  him, 
you  may  be  entertained  by  the  artless  prattle  of  the 
"  sperruts, "  of  whom  he  knows  one  or  two.  They  call 
themselves  all  sorts  of  names — such  as  Peter,  Paul, 
Shakespeare,  Napoleon,  and  Byron — but  in  reality  there 
are  only  two  of  them,  and  they  are  bad  actors.  Then 
there  are  cork-cutters,  "  wine  merchants'  engineers" — it 
seems  rather  a  grand  thing  for  a  wine  merchant,  above 
all  other  men,  to  want  an  engineer;  novelists  do  not 
want  engineers — sealing-wax  manufacturers,  workers 
in  shellac  and  zinc,  sign-painters,  heraldic  painters, 
coopers,  makers  of  combs,  iron  hoops,  and  sun-blinds, 
powterers,  feather- makers — they  only  pretend  to  make 
feathers;  what  they  really  do  is  to  buy  them,  or  pluck 
the  birds,  and  then  arrange  the  feathers  and  trim  them ; 
but  they  do  not  really  make  them — ship-modelers,  a 
small  but  haughty  race ;  mat-dealers,  who  never  pass  a 
prison  without  using  bad  language,  for  reasons  which 
many  who  have  enjoyed  the  comforts  of  a  prison  will 
doubtless  understand.  There  are  also  a  large  quantity 
of  people  w^ho  call  themselves  teachers  of  music.  This 
may  be  taken  as  mere  pride  and  ostentatious  pretence, 
because  no  one  wants  to  learn  music  in  this  country,  no 
one  ever  plays  any  music,  no  one  has  a  desire  to  hear 
any.  If  any  one  called  and  asked  for  terms  of  tuition, 
he  would  be  courteously  invited  to  go  awa}-,  or  the  pro- 
fessor would  be  engaged,  or  ho  would  be  out  of  town. 
In  the  same  way,  a  late  learned  professor  of  Arabic  in 
the  University  of  Cambridge  was  reported  always  to 
have  important  business  in  the  country  if  an  Arab  came 
to  visit  the  colleges.  But  what  a  lift  above  the  steve- 
dores, pewterers,  and  feather  pretenders  to  be  a  pro- 
fessor of  music  I 

Angela  would  plant  her  Palace  in  this  region,  the 
most  fitting  place,  because  the  most  dreary;  because 
here  there  exists  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  for  the 
imagination  to  feed  upon.  It  is,  in  fact,  though  this  is 
not  generally  known,  the  purgatory  prepared  for  those 
who  have  given  themselves  up  too  much  to  the  enjo}''- 
ment  of  roses  and  rapture  while  living  at  the  West  End. 
How  beautiful  are  all  the  desigi:is  of   Nature  1     Could 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  185 

there  be,  anywhere  in  the  world,  a  more  fitting  place 
for  such  a  purgator}^  than  such  a  city?  Besides,  once 
one  understands  the  thing,  one  is  further  enabled  to  ex- 
plain why  these  grim  and  sombre  streets  remain  with- 
out improvement.  To  beautify  them  would  seem,  in 
the  eyes  of  pious  and  religious  people,  almost  flj'ing  in 
the  face  of  Providence.  And  yet,  not  really  so ;  for  it 
may  be  argued  that  there  are  other  places  also  fitted  for 
the  punishment  of  these  purgatorial  souls — for  instance, 
Hoxton,  Bethnal  Green,  Battersea,  and  the  Isle  of 
Dogs. 

Angela  resolved,  therefore,  that  on  this  spot  the  Pal- 
ace of  Joy  should  stand.  There  should  be,  for  all  who 
chose  to  accept  it,  a  general  and  standing  invitation  to 
accept  happiness  and  create  new  fonns  of  delight.  She 
would  awaken  in  dull  and  lethargic  brains  a  new  sense, 
the  new  sense  of  pleasure;  she  would  give  them  a  crav- 
ing for  things  of  which  as  yet  they  knew  nothing.  She 
would  place  within  their  reach,  at  no  cost  whatever, 
absolutely  free  for  all,  the  same  enjoyments  as  are  pur- 
chased by  the  rich.  A  beautiful  dream !  They  should 
cultivate  a  noble  discontent;  they  should  gradually 
learn  to  be  critical ;  they  should  import  into  their  own 
homes  the  spirit  of  discontent;  they  should  cease  to  look 
upon  life  as  a  daily  uprising  and  a  down-sitting,  a  daily 
mechanical  toil,  a  daily  rest.  To  cultivate  the  sense  of 
pleasure  is  to  civilize.  With  the  majorit}^  of  mankind 
the  sense  is  undeveloped,  and  is  chiefl}*  confined  to  eat- 
ing and  drinking.  To  teach  the  people  how  the  capac- 
ity of  delight  may  be  widened,  how  it  may  be  taught 
to  throw  out  branches  in  all  manner  of  unsuspected  di- 
rections, was  Angela's  ambition.  A  very  beautiful 
dream ! 

She  owned  so  many  houses  in  this  district  that  it  was 
quite  easy  to  find  a  place  suitable  for  her  purpose.  She 
discovered  upon  the  map  of  her  property  a  whole  four- 
square block  of  small  houses,  all  her  own,  bounded 
north,  south,  east,  and  west  by  streets  of  other  small 
houses,  similar  and  similarly  situated.  This  site  was 
about  five  minutes  west  of  Stepney  Green,  and  in  the 
district  already  described.  The  houses  were  occupied 
by  weekly  tenants,  who  would  find  no  difficulty  in  getting 
quarters  as  eligible  elsewhere.     Some  of  them  were  in 


186  ALL  SORTS  AAD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

bad  repair;  and  what  with  maintenance  of  roofs  and 
chimneys,  bad  debts,  midnight  fiittings,  and  other 
causes,  there  was  little  or  no  income  derived  from  these 
houses.  Mr.  Messenger,  indeed,  who  was  a  hard  man, 
but  not  unjust,  onl}^  kept  them  to  save  them  from  the 
small  owner  like  Mr.  Bunker,  whose  necessities  and 
greed  made  him  a  rack-rent  landlord. 

Having  fixed  upon  her  site,  Angela  next  proceeded 
to  have  interviews — but  not  on  the  spot,  where  she 
might  be  recognized — with  lawyers  and  architects,  and 
to  unfold  partiall}'  her  design.  The  area  on  which  the 
houses  stood  formed  a  pretty  large  plot  of  ground,  ample 
for  her  purpose,  provided  that  the  most  was  made  of 
the  space  and  nothing  wasted.  But  a  great  deal  was 
required ;  therefore  she  would  have  no  lordly  staircases 
covering  half  the  ground,  nor  great  ante-rooms,  nor 
handsome  lobbies.  Everything,  she  caref  ull}'  explained, 
was  to  be  constructed  for  use  and  not  for  show.  She 
wanted,  to  begin  with,  three  large  halls :  one  of  them 
was  to  be  a  dancing-room,  but  it  might  also  be  a  chil- 
dren's play-room  for  wet  weather;  one  was  to  be  used 
for  a  permanent  exhibition  of  native  talent,  in  paint- 
ing, drawing,  wood  and  ivory-carving,  sculpture,  leather- 
work,  and  the  like,  everything  being  for  sale  at  low 
prices;  the  last  was  to  be  a  library,  reading  and  writ- 
ing room.  There  was  also  to  be  a  theatre,  which  wouFd 
serve  as  a  concert  and  music  room,  and  was  to  have  an 
organ  in  it.  In  addition  to  these  there  were  to  be  a 
great  number  of  class-rooms  for  the  various  arts,  ac- 
complishments, and  graces  that  were  to  be  taught  by 
competent  professors  and  lecturers.  There  were  to  be 
other  rooms  where  tired  people  might  find  rest,  quiet, 
and  talk — the  women  with  tea  and  work,  the  men  with 
tobacco.  And  there  were  to  be  billiard-rooms,  a  tennis- 
court,  a  racket-court,  a  fives-court,  and  a  card-room. 
In  fact,  there  was  to  be  space  found  for  almost  every 
kind  of  recreation. 

She  did  not  explain  to  her  architect  how  she  proposed 
to  use  this  magnificent  place  of  entertainment;  it  was 
enough  that  he  should  design  it  and  carry  out  her  ideas; 
and  she  stipulated  that  no  curious  inquirers  on  the  spot 
should  be  told  for  what  purpose  the  building  was  des- 
tined, nor  who  was  the  builder. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  iMEX.  187 

One  cannot  get  designs  for  a  palace  in  a  week :  it  was 
already  late  in  the  autumn,  after  Harry  had  taken  up 
his  appointment,  and  was  busy  among  the  legs  of  stools, 
that  the  houses  began  to  be  pulled  down  and  the  rem- 
nants carted  away.  Angela  pressed  on  the  work ;  but 
it  seemed  a  long  and  tedious  delay  before  the  founda- 
tions were  laid  and  the  walls  began  slowly  to  rise. 

There  should  have  been  a  great  function  when  the 
foundation-stone  was  laid,  with  a  procession  of  the 
clergy  in  white  surplices  and  college  caps,  perhaps  a 
bishop,  Miss  Messenger  herself,  with  her  friends,  a  lord 
or  two,  the  officers  of  the  nearest  Masonic  Lodge,  a  few 
Foresters,  Odd  Fellows,  Buffaloes,  Druids,  and  Shep- 
herds, a  flag,  the  charity  children,  a  dozen  policemen, 
and  Venetian  masts,  with  a  prayer,  a  hymn,  a  speech 
and  a  breakfast — nothing  short  of  this  should  have  sat- 
isfied the  founder.  Yet  she  let  the  opportunity  slip, 
and  nothing  was  done  at  all ;  the  great  building,  des- 
tined to  change  the  character  of  the  gloomy  city  into  a 
City  of  Sunshine,  was  begun  with  no  pomp  or  outward 
demonstration.  Gangs  of  workmen  cleared  away  the 
ignoble  bricks ;  the  little  tenements  vanished ;  a  broad 
space  bristling  with  little  garden- walls  gaped  where 
they  had  stood ;  then  the  walls  vanished ;  and  nothing 
at  all  was  left  but  holes  where  cellars  had  bee7i ;  then 
they  raised  a  hoarding  round  the  whole,  and  began  to 
dig  out  the  foundation.  After  the  hoarding  was  put 
up,  nothing  more  for  a  long  time  was  visible.  An- 
gela used  to  prowl  round  it  in  the  morning,  when  her 
girls  were  all  at  work,  but  fearful  lest  the  architect 
might  come  and  recognize  her. 

As  she  saw  her  palace  begin  to  grow  into  existence, 
she  became  anxious  about  its  success.  The  first  beati- 
fic vision,  the  rapture  of  imagination,  was  over,  and 
would  come  no  more;  she  had  now  to  face  the  hard 
fact  of  an  unsympathetic  people  who  perhaps  would  not 
desire  any  pleasure — or  if  any,  then  the  pleasure  of  a 
"spree,"  with  plenty  of  beer.  How  could  the  thing  be 
worked  if  the  people  themselves  would  not  work  it? 
How  many  could  she  reckon  upon  as  her  friends?  Per- 
haps two  "or  three  at  most.  Oh,  the  Herculean  task, 
for  one  woman,  with  two  or  three  disciples,  to  revolu- 
tionize the  Citv  of  East  London ! 


188  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOyS  OF  MEN. 

With  this  upon  her  mind,  her  conversations  with 
the  intelhgent  young  cabinet- maker  became  more  than 
usually  graA'e  and  earnest.  He  was  himsc^lf  more  se- 
rious than  of  old,  because  he  now  occupied  so  responsi- 
ble a  position  in  the  brewery.  Their  relaticns  remained 
unchanged.  They  walked  together,  they  talked  and 
they  devised  things  in  the  drawing-room,  and  especiahy 
for  Saturday  evenings. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  one  evening  when  they  were  alone 
except  for  Nelly  in  the  drawing-room,  "  I  think  that 
we  should  never  think  or  talk  of  working-men  in  the 
lump,  any  more  than  we  think  of  rich  men  in  a  lump. 
All  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  are  pretty  much  alike, 
and  what  moves  one  moves  all.  We  are  all  tempted  in 
the  same  way;  we  can  all  be  led  in  the  same  way." 

"  Yes,  but  I  do  not  see  how  that  fact  helps." 

They  were  talking,  as  Angela  loved  to  do,  of  the 
scheme  of  the  palace. 

"If  the  palace  were  built,  we  should  offer  the  people 
of  Stepney,  without  prejudice  to  Whitechapel,  Mile  End 
Bow,  or  even  Cable  Street,  a  great  many  things  which 
at  present  they  cannot  get  and  do  not  desire.  Yet  they 
have  always  proved  extremely  attractive.  We  offer 
the  society  of  the  young  for  the  young,  with  dancing, 
singing,  music,  acting,  entertainments — everj^thing  ex- 
cept, which  is  an  enormous  exception,  feasting;  we  offer 
them  all  for  nothing ;  we  tell  them,  in  fact,  to  do  every- 
thing for  themselves;  to  be  the  actors,  singers,  dancers, 
and  musicians." 

"And  they  cannot  do  anj^thing." 

"A  few  can;  the  rest  will  come  in.  You  forget, 
Miss  Kennedy,  the  honor  and  glory  of  acting,  singing, 
and  performing  in  public.  Can  there  be  a  greater  re- 
ward than  the  applause  of  one's  friends?" 

"  It  could  never  be  so  nice,"  said  Nelly,  "to  dance  in 
a  great  hall  among  a  lot  of  people  as  to  dance  up  here, 
all  b}^  ourselves." 

The  palace  was  not,  in  these  days,  very  greatly  in 
the  young  man's  mind.  He  was  occupied  with  other 
things :  his  own  work  and  position ;  the  wisdom  of  his 
choice;  the  prospects  of  the  future.  For  surely,  if  he 
had  exchanged  the  old  life  and  got  nothing  in  return 
but  work  at  a  lathe  all  day  at  tenpence  an  hour,  the 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  189 

change  was  a  bad  one.  Nothing  more  liad  been  said  to 
him  by  Miss  Kennedy  about  the  great  things  he  was  to 
do,  with  her,  for  her,  among  his  people.  \Vas  he,  then, 
supposed  to  find  out  for  himself  these  great  things  y  And 
he  made  no  more  way  with  his  wooing.  That  was 
stopped,  apparently,  altogether. 

Always  kind  to  him ;  always  well  pleased  to  see  him ; 
always  receiving  him  witli  the  same  sweet  and  gracious 
smile ;  always  frank  and  open  with  him ;  but  nothing 
more. 

Of  late  he  had  observed  that  her  mind  was  greatly 
occupied ;  she  was  brooding  over  something ;  he  feared 
that  it  might  be  something  to  do  with  the  Associated 
Dressmakers'  financial  position.  She  did  not  commu- 
nicate her  anxieties  to  him,  but  always,  when  they  were 
alone,  wanted  to  go  back  to  their  vision  of  the  palace. 
Harry  possessed  a  ready  sympathy;  he  fell  easily  and 
at  once  into  the  direction  suggested  by  another's  words. 
Therefore,  when  Angela  talked  about  the  palace,  he  too 
took  up  the  thread  of  invention,  and  made  believe  with 
her  as  if  it  were  a  thing  possible,  a  thing  of  brick  and 
mortar. 

"I  see,"  he  went  on  this  evening,  warming  to  the 
work,  "  I  see  the  opening  day,  long  announced,  of  the 
palace.  The  halls  are  furnished  and  lit  up;  the  danc- 
ing-room is  ready;  the  theatre  is  completed,  and  the 
electric  lights  are  lit ;  the  concert- rooms  are  ready  with 
their  music-stands  and  their  seats.  The  doors  are  open. 
Then  a  wonderful  thing  happens." 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Angela. 

"  Nobody  comes. " 

"  Oh !" 

"  The  vast  chambers  echo  with  the  footsteps  of  your- 
self. Miss  Kennedy,  and  of  Nelly,  who  makes  no  more 
noise  than  a  demure  kitten.  Captain  Sorensen  and  I 
make  as  much  trampling  as  we  can,  to  produce  the 
effect  of  a  crowd.  But  it  hardly  seems  to  succeed. 
Then  come  the  girls,  and  we  try  to  "get  up  a  dance;  but, 
as  Nelly  says,  it  is  not  quite  the  same  as  your  drawing- 
room.^  Presently  two  men,  with  pipes  in  their  mouths, 
come  in  and  look  about  them.  I  explain  that  the  stage 
is  ready  for  them,  if  they  like  to  act;  or  the  concert- 
room,  if  they  will  sing;  or  the  dancing-room,  should 


190  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  CF  MEN. 

they  wish  to  shake  a  leg.  They  stare  and  thej"  go  away. 
Then  we  shut  up  the  doors  and  go  away  and  cry." 

"  O  Mr.  Goslett,  have  you  no  other  comfort  for  me?" 

"  Plenty  of  comfort.  While  we  are  all  crjing,  some- 
body has  a  happy  thought.     I  think  it  is  Nelly." 

She  blushed  a  pretty  rosy  red.  "  I  am  sure  I  could 
never  suggest  an3'thing." 

"  Nelly  suggests  that  we  shall  offer  prizes,  a  quantity 
of  prizes,  for  competition  in  ever^^thing,  the  audience 
or  the  spectators  to  be  judges ;  and  then  the  palace  will 
be  filled  and  the  universal  reign  of  joy  will  begin." 

"Can  we  afford  prizes?"  asked  Angela  the  practical. 

"Miss  Kennedy,"  said  Harry  severel}',  "permit  me 
to  remind  you  that,  in  carrjing  out  this  project,  mone}", 
for  the  first  time  in  the  world's  history,  is  to  be  of  no 
value." 

If  Newnham  does  not  teach  women  to  originate — 
which  a  thousand  Newjihams  will  never  do — it  teaches 
them  to  catch  at  an  idea  and  develop  it.  The  young 
workman  suggested  her  palace;  but  his  first  rough  idea 
was  a  poor  thing  compared  with  Angela's  finished 
structure — a  wigwam  beside  a  castle,  a  tabernacle  be- 
side a  cathedral.  Angela  was  devising  an  experiment, 
the  like  of  which  has  never  yet  been  tried  upon  restless 
and  dissatisfied  mankind.  She  was  going,  in  short,  to 
say  to  them :  "  Life  is  full,  crammed  full,  overflowing 
with  all  kinds  of  delights.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  only  rich  people  can  enjoy  these  things.  They 
may  buy  them,  but  everybody  may  create  them ;  they 
cost  nothing.  You  shall  learn  music,  and  forthwith 
all  the  world  will  be  transformed  for  you;  you  shall 
learn  to  paint,  to  carve,  to  model,  to  design,  and  the 
da}^  shall  be  too  short  to  contain  the  happiness  you  will 
get  out  of  it.  You  shall  learn  to  dance,  and  know  the 
rapture  of  the  waltz.  You  shall  learn  the  great  art  of 
acting,  and  give  each  other  the  pleasure  which  rich 
men  buy.  You  shall  even  learn  the  great  art  of  v/rit- 
ing,  and  learn  the  magic  of  a  charmed  phrase.  All 
these  things  which  make  the  life  of  rich  people  happy 
shall  be  j^ours ;  and  they  sliall  cost  you  nothing.  AVhat 
the  heart  of  man  can  desire  shall  be  yours,  and  for 
nothing.  I  will  give  you  a  house  to  shelter  you,  and 
rooms  in  which  to  play;  you  have  only  to  find  the  rest. 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIONS  OF  MEN.  191 

Enter  in,  my  friends ;  forget  the  squalid  past ;  here  are 
great  halls  and  lovely  corridors — they  are  yours.  Fill 
them  with  sweet  echoes  of  dropping  music;  let  the 
walls  be  covered  with  your  works  of  art ;  let  the  girls 
laugh  and  the  boys  be  happy  within  these  walls.  I 
give  j'ou  the  shell,  the  empty  carcass;  fill  it  with  the 
spirit  of  content  and  luippiness." 

''  Would  the}^  to  begin  with,-  "behave  according"?  It 
was  easy  to  bring  together  half  a  dozen  dressmakers : 
girls  always  like  behaving  nicely;  would  the  young 
men  be  equally  amenable?  And  would  the  policeman 
be  inevitable,  as  in  the  corridors  of  a  theatre?  The  po- 
lice, however,  would  have  to  be  voluntary,  like  every 
other  part  of  the  institution,  and  the  guardians  of  the 
peace  must,  like  the  performers  in  the  entertainments, 
give  their  services  for  nothing.  For  which  end,  Harry 
suggested,  it  would  be  highly  proper  to  have  a  pro- 
fessor of  the  noble  art  of  self-defence,  with  others  of 
fencing,  single-stick,  quarter-staff,  and  other  kindred 
objects. 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

DICK  THE   RADICAL. 

In  the  early  days  of  winter,  the  walls  of  the  palace 
being  now  already  well  above  the  hoarding,  Angela 
made  another  important  convert.  This  was  no  other 
than  Dick  Coppin,  the  cousin  of  whom  mention  has 
been  already  made. 

"  I  Avill  bring  him  to  3'our  drawing-room, "  said  Har- 
ry. "  That  is,  if  he  will  come.  He  does  not  know 
much  about  drawing-rooms,  but  he  is  a  great  man  at 
the  Stepney  Advanced  Club.  He  is  a  reddest  of  red- 
hot  Rads,  and  the  most  advanced  of  Republicans.  I  do 
not  think  he  would  himself  go  a-miu'dering  of  kings 
and  priests,  but  I  fancy  he  regards  these  things  as  ac- 
cidents naturally  rising  out  of  a  pardonable  enthusiasm. 
His  manners  are  better  than  j'ou  will  generally  find, 
because  he  belongs  to  my  own  gentle  craft.  You  shall 
tame  him.  Miss  Kennedy." 

Angela  said  she  would  try. 

"He  shall  learn  to  waltz,"  Harry  went  on.     "This 


192  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

will  convert  him  from  a  fierce  Republican  to  a  merely 
enthusiastic  Radical.  Then  he  shall  learn  to  sing  in 
parts;  this  Avill  drop  him  down  into  advanced  Liberal- 
ism. And  if  you  can  persuade  him  to  attend  your 
evenings,  talk  with  the  girls,  or  engage  in  some  art, 
say  painting,  he  will  become,  quite  naturally,  a  mere 
Conservative." 

With  some  difficulty  Harry  persuaded  his  cousin  to 
come  with  him.  Dick  Coppin  was  not,  he  said  of  him- 
self, a  dangler  after  girls'  apron-strings,  having  some- 
thing else  to  think  of;  nor  was  he  attracted  by  the 
promise,  held  out  by  his  cousin,  of  music  and  singing. 
But  he  came  mider  protest,  because  music  seemed  to 
him  an  idle  thing  while  the  House  of  Lords  remained 
undestroyed,  and  because  this  cousin  of  his  could  some- 
how make  him  do  pretty  nearly  what  he  pleased. 

He  was  a  man  of  Harry's  own  age;  a  short  man, 
with  somewhat  rough  and  rugged  features — strong, 
and  not  without  the  beauty  of  strength.  His  forehead 
was  broad;  he  had  thick  eyebrows,  the  thick  lips  of 
one  who  speaks  much  in  public,  and  a  straight  chin — 
the  chin  of  obstinac}'.  His  eyes  were  bright  and  full ; 
his  hair  was  black;  his  face  was  oval;  his  expression 
was  masterful ;  it  was  altogether  the  face  of  a  man  who 
interested  one.  Angela  thought  of  his  brother,  the 
captain  in  the  Salvation  Army ;  this  man,  she  felt,  had 
all  the  courage  of  the  other,  with  more  common-sense; 
j^et  one  who,  too,  might  become  a  fanatic — who  might 
be  dangerous  if  he  took  the  wrong  side.  She  shook 
hands  with  him  and  welcomed  him.  Then  she  said 
that  she  wanted  dancing  men  for  her  evenings,  and 
hoped  that  he  could  dance.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  that  Mr.  Coppin  had  been  asked  that  question,  and 
also  the  first  time  that  he  had  thought  it  possible  that 
any  man  in  his  senses,  except  a  sailor,  should  be  ex- 
pected to  dance.  Of  course  he  could  not,  and  said  so 
bluntly,  sticking  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  pockets, 
which  is  a  gesture  peculiar  to  the  trade,  if  you  care  to 
notice  so  small  a  fact. 

"Your  cousin,"  said  Angela,  "will  teach  you.  Mr. 
Goslett,  please  give  Mr.  Coppin  a  lesson  in  a  quadrille. 
Nelly,  you  will  be  his  partner.  Now,  if  you  will  make 
up  the  set,  I  will  play." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  193 

An  elderly  bishop  of  Calvinistic  principles  could  not 
have  been  more  astonished  than  was  this  j^onng  work- 
man. He  had  not  the  presence  of  mind  to  refuse.  Be- 
fore he  realized  his  position,  he  was  standing  beside 
his  partner :  in  front  of  him  stood  his  cousin,  also  with 
a  partner ;  four  girls  made  up  the  set.  Then  the  music 
began,  and  he  was  dragged,  pushed,  hustled,  and  pulled 
this  way  and  that.  He  would  have  resented  this  treat- 
ment but  that  the  girls  took  such  pains  to  set  him  right, 
and  evidently  regarded  the  lesson  as  one  of  the  greatest 
importance.  Nor  did  they  cease  until  he  had  discerned 
what  the  mathematician  called  the  Law  of  the  Quad- 
rille, and  could  tread  the  measure  with  some  approach 
to  accuracy. 

"We  shall  not  be  satisfied,  Mr.  Coppin,"  said  An- 
gela, when  the  quadrille  was  finished,  "  until  we  have 
taught  everybody  to  dance." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  dancing?"  he  asked  good- 
humoredl}',  but  a  good  deal  humiliated  b}^  the  struggle. 

"Dancing  is  graceful;  dancing  is  a  good  exercise; 
dancing  should  be  natural  to  young  people ;  dancing  is 
delightful.  See — I  will  play  a  waltz;  now  watch  the 
girls." 

She  played.  Instantly  the  girls  caught  each  other  b}'' 
the  waist  and  whirled  round  the  room  with  brightened 
e3'es  and  parted  lips.  Harry  took  Nelly  in  the  close 
embrace  which  accompanies  the  German  dance,  and 
swiftly,  easily,  gracefully,  danced  round  and  round  the 
room. 

"  Is  it  not  happiness  that  you  are  witnessing,  Mr. 
Coppin?"  asked  Angela.  "Tell  me,  did  you  ever  see 
dressmakers  happy  before?  You,  too,  shall  learn  to 
waltz.     I  will  teach  you,  but  not  to-night." 

Then  they  left  off  dancing  and  sat  down,  talking  and 
laughing.  Harry  took  his  violin  and  discoursed  sweet 
music,  to  which  they  listened  or  not  as  they  listed. 
Only  the  girl  who  was  lame  looked  on  with  rapt  and 
eager  face. 

"  See  her !"  said  Angela,  pointing  her  out.  "  She  has 
found  what  her  soul  was  ignorautly  desiring.  She 
has  found  music.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Coppin,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  music  and  this  room,  what  would  that  poor 
child  be?" 
13 


194  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  made  no  reply.  Never  before  had  he  witnessed, 
never  had  he  suspected,  such  an  evening.  There  were 
the  girls  whom  he  despised,  who  laugTied  and  jested 
with  the  lads  in  the  street,  who  talked  loud  and  were 
foolish.  Why,  they  were  changed !  What  did  it  mean? 
And  who  was  this  young  woman,  who  looked  and 
spoke  as  no  other  woman  he  had  ever  met,  yet  was  only 
a  dressmaker? 

"I  have  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Coppin,"  this  young  per- 
son said,  in  her  queen-like  manner,  "  and  I  am  glad  that 
you  have  come.  We  shall  expect  you,  now,  every  Sat- 
urday evening.  I  hear  that  you  are  a  political  stu- 
dent." 

"I  am  a  Republican,"  he  replied.  "That's  about 
what  I  am. "  Again  he  stuck  his  thumbs  into  his  waist- 
coat pockets. 

"  Yes.  You  do  not  perhaps  quite  understand  -what 
it  is  that  we  are  doing  here,  do  you?  In  a  small  way 
— it  is  quite  a  little  thing — it  may  interest  even  a  polit- 
ical student  like  yourself.  The  interests  of  milliners 
and  dressmakers  are  very  small  compared  with  the 
House  of  Lords.     Still — your  sisters  and  cousins " 

"  It  seems  pleasant,"  he  replied,  "  if  you  don't  all  get 
set  up  with  high  notions.  As  for  me,  I  am  for  root- 
and-branch  Reform." 

"  Yes :  but  all  improvement  in  government  means 
improvement  of  the  people,  does  it  not?  Else,  I  see  no 
reason  for  trying  to  improve  a  government." 

He  made  no  repl3\  He  was  so  much  accustomed  to 
the  vague  denunciations  and  cheap  rhetoric  of  his 
class  that  a  small  practical  point  Avas  strange  to  him. 

"  Now, "  said  Angela,  "  I  asked  your  cousin  to  bring 
you  here,  because  I  learn  that  you  are  a  man  of  great 
mental  activity,  and  likely,  if  j'ou  are  properly  directed, 
to  be  of  great  use  to  us." 

He  stared  again.  Who  was  this  dressmaker  who 
spoke  about  directing  him?  The  same  uncomfortable 
feeling  came  over  him — a  cold  doubt  about  himself, 
which  he  often  felt  when  in  the  society  of  his  cousin. 
No  man  likes  to  feel  that  he  is  not  perfectly  and  en- 
tirely right,  and  that  he  must  be  right. 

"  We  are  a  society,"  she  went  on,  "of  girls  who  want 
to  work  for  ourselves ;  we  all  of  us  belong  to  your  class : 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  195 

we  therefore  look  to  3^011  for  sympathy  and  assistance. 
Yet  u  hold  aloof  from  ns.  We  have  had  some  sup- 
port nere  already,  but  none  from  the  people  who  ought 
most  to  sympathize  with  us.  That  is,  I  suppose,  because 
you  know  nothing  about  us.  Very  well,  then.  While 
your  cousin  is  amusing  those  girls,  I  will  tell  you  about 
our  association." 


"  Now  you  understand,  Mr.  Coppin.  You  men  have 
long  since  organized  yourselves — it  is  our  turn  now; 
and  we  look  to  you  for  help.  We  are  not  going  to  work 
any  longer  for  a  master :  we  are  not  going  to  work  long 
hours  any  longer ;  and  we  are  going  to  get  time  every 
day  for  fresh  air,  exercise,  and  amusement.  You  are 
continually  occupied,  I  believe,  at  your  club,  denounc- 
ing the  ])leasures  of  the  rich.  But  we  are  actually  go- 
ing to  enjoy  all  those  pleasures  ourselves,  and  they  will 
cost  us  nothing.  Look  round  this  room — we  have  a 
piano  lent  to  us :  there  is  your  cousin  with  his  fiddle, 
and  Captain  Sorensen  with  his ;  we  are  learning  part- 
songs,  which  cost  us  three-halfpence  each;  we  dance; 
we  play;  we  read — a  subscription  to  Smith's  is  only 
three  guineas  a  year ;  we  have  games  which  are  cheap : 
the  whole  expense  of  our  evenings  is  the  fire  in  winter 
and  the  gas.  On  Saturday  evenings  we  have  some  cake 
and  lemonade,  which  one  of  the  girls  makes  for  us. 
What  can  rich  people  have  more  than  society,  lights, 
music,  singing,  and  dancing?" 

He  was  silent,  wondering  at  this  thing. 

"Don't  you  see,  Mr.  Coppin,  that  if  we  are  success- 
ful we  shall  be  the  cause  of  many  more  such  associa- 
tions? Don't  you  see,  that  if  wo  could  get  our  principle 
established,  we  should  accomplish  a  greater  revolution 
than  the  overthrow  of  the  Lords  and  the  Church,  and 
one  far  more  beneficial?" 

"You  can't  succeed,"  he  said.  "  It's  been  tried  be- 
fore." 

"  Yes — b}'  men :  I  know  it.  And  it  has  always  broken 
down  because  the  leaders  were  false  to  their  principles 
and  betrayed  the  cause." 

"  Where  are  the  girls  to  get  the  money  to  start  with?" 

"  We  are  fortunate,"  Angela  replied.     "  We  have  this 


196  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

house  and  furniture  given  to  us  by  a  lady  interested  in 
us.  That,  I  own,  is  a  great  thing.  But  other  rich  peo- 
ple will  be  found  to  do  as  much.  Why,  how  much  bet- 
ter it  is  than  leaving  money  to  hospitals !" 

"  Rich  people !"  he  echoed  with  contempt. 

"  Yes :  rich  people,  of  whom  you  know  so  little,  Mr. 
Coppin,  that  I  think  you  ought  to  be  very  careful  how 
you  speak  of  them.  But  think  of  us — look  at  the  girls. 
Do  they  not  look  happier  than  they  used  to  look?" 

He  replied  untruthfulh^  because  he  w^as  not  going  to 
give  in  to  a  woman,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  he  did  not  re-» 
member  how  they  used  to  look,  but  that  undoubtedly 
they  now  looked  very  well.  He  did  not  say — which  he 
felt — that  they  were  behaving  more  quietly  and  mod- 
estly than  he  had  ever  known  them  to  behave. 

"You,"  Angela  weut  on,  with  a  little  emphasis  on 
the  pronoun,  which  made  her  speech  a  delicate  tlattery — • 
"you,  Mr.  Coppin,  cannot  fail  to  observe  how  the 
evening's  relaxation  helps  to  raise  the  whole  tone  of  the 
girls.  The  music  which  they  hear  sinks  into  their 
hearts  and  lifts  them  above  the  little  cares  of  their  lives ; 
the  dancing  makes  them  merry;  the  social  life,  the  talk 
among  ourselves,  the  books  they  read,  all  help  to  main- 
tain a  pure  and  elevated  tone  of  thought.  I  declare, 
Mr.  Coppin,  I  no  longer  know  these  girls.  And  then 
they  bring  their  friends,  and  so  their  influence  spreads. 
They  will  not,  I  hope,  remain  in  the  workrooms  all 
their  lives.  A  woman  should  be  married ;  do  not  you 
think  so,  Mr.  Coppin?" 

He  was  too  much  astonished  at  the  whole  conversa- 
tion to  make  any  coherent  reply. 

"  I  think  you  have  perhaps  turned  your  attention  too 
much  to  politics,  have  you  not?  Yet  practical  ques- 
tions ought  to  interest  you." 

"They  say,  at  the  club,"  he  answered,  "that  this 
place  is  a  sham  and  a  humbug." 

"  Will  you  bring  your  friends  here  to  show  them  that 
it  is  not?" 

"  Harry  stood  up  for  you  the  other  night.  He's 
plucky,  and  they  like  him  for  all  he  looks  a  swell." 

"  Does  he  speak  at  your  club?" 

"  Sometimes — not  to  say  speak.  He  gets  up  after  the 
speech,  and  says  so  and  so  is  wrong.     Yet  they  like 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN  197 

him — because  he  isn't  afraid  to  say  what  ho  thinks. 
They  call  him  Gentleman  Jack." 

"  1  thought  he  was  a  brave  man,"  said  Angela,  look- 
ing at  Harry,  who  was  rehearsing  some  story  to  the 
delight  of  Nelly  and  the  girls. 

"  Yes — the  other  night  they  were  talking  about  3'ou, 
and  one  said  one  thing  and  one  said  another,  and  a 
chap  said  he  thought  he'd  seen  you  in  a  West  End 
music-hall,  and  he  didn't  believe  j^ou  were  any  better 
than  you  should  be." 

"  Oh !"  She  shrank  as  if  she  had  been  struck  some 
blow. 

"  He  didn't  say  it  twice.  After  he'd  knocked  him 
down,  Harry  invited  that  chap  to  stand  up  and  have  it 
out.     But  he  wouldn't." 

It  was  a  great  misfortune  for  Harry  that  he  lost  the 
soft  and  glowing  look  of  gratitude  and  admiration 
which  was  quite  wasted  upon  him.  For  he  was  at  the 
very  point,  the  critical  point,  of  the  story. 

Angela  had  made  another  convert.  When  Dick  Cop- 
pin  went  home  that  night,  he  was  humbled  but  pensive. 
Here  was  a  thing  of  which  he  had  never  thought ;  and 
here  was  a  woman  the  like  of  whom  he  had  never  im- 
agined. The  House  of  Lords,  the  Church,  the  Land 
Laws,  presented  no  attraction  that  night  for  his 
thoughts.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  a  woman. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

DOWN   ON   THEIR   LUCK. 

Engaged  in  these  pursuits,  neither  Angela  nor  Harry 
paid  much  heed  to  the  circle  at  the  boarding-house, 
where  they  were  still  nominally  boarders.  For  Angela 
was  all  day  long  at  her  association,  and  her  general 
assistant,  or  prime-minister,  after  a  hasty  breakfast, 
hastened  to  his  daily  labor.  He  found  that  he  was  left 
entirely  to  his  own  devices :  work  came  in  which  he  did 
or  left  undone.  Miss  Messenger's  instructions  were  faith- 
fully carried  out,  and  his  independence  was  respected. 
During  work-time  he  planned  amusements  and  sur- 
prises for  Miss  Kennedy  and  her  girls,  or  he  meditated 


198  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

upon  the  Monoton}'  of  Man,  a  subject  which  I  may  pos- 
sibly explain  later  ou;  or  when  he  knocked  off,  he  would 
go  and  see  the  drayman  roll  about  the  heavy  casks  as 
if  they  w^ere  footballs ;  or  he  would  watch  the  machin- 
ery and  look  at  the  great  brown  mass  of  boiling  hops, 
or  he  would  drop  suddenl}"  upon  his  cousin  Josephus, 
and  observe  him  faithfully  entering  names,  ticking  off 
and  comparing,  just  as  he  had  done  for  forty  years, 
still  a  junior  clerk.  But  he  gave  no  thought  to  the 
boarders. 

One  evening,  however,  in  late  September,  he  hap- 
pened to  look  in  toward  nine  o'clock,  the  hour  when  the 
frugal  supper  was  generally  spread.  The  usual  occu- 
pants of  the  room  were  there,  but  there  was  no  supper 
on  the  table,  and  the  landlady  was  absent. 

Harry  stood  in  the  doorway,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  carelessly  looking  at  the  group.  Suddenly  he 
became  aware,  with  a  curious  sinking  of  heart,  that 
something  was  gone  wrong  with  all  of  them.  They 
were  all  silent,  all  sitting  bolt  upright,  no  one  taking 
the  least  notice  of  his  neighbor,  and  all  apparently  in 
some  physical  pain. 

The  illustrious  pair  were  in  their  usual  places,  but 
his  lordship,  instead  of  looking  sleepy  and  sleepily  con- 
tent, as  was  his  custom  at  the  evening  hour,  sat  bolt 
upright  and  thrummed  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  his 
fingers,  restless  and  ill  at  ease;  opposite  to  him  sat  his 
consort,  her  hands  tightly  clasped,  her  bright  beady 
eyes  gleaming  with  impatience,  which  might  at  any 
moment  break  out  into  wrath.  Yet  the  case  was  com- 
pletely drawn  up,  as  Harry  knew,  because  he  had  fin- 
ished it  himself,  and  it  only  remained  to  make  a  clean 
copy  before  it  was  "  sent  in"  to  the  Lord  Chancellor. 

As  for  the  professor,  he  was  seated  at  the  windoAv, 
his  legs  curled  under  the  chair,  looking  moodily  across 
Stepney  Green — into  space,  and  neglecting  his  experi- 
ments. His  generally  cheerful  face  wore  an  anxious  ex- 
pression as  if  he  was  thinking  of  something  unpleasant, 
which  would  force  itself  upon  his  attention. 

Josephus  was  in  his  corner,  without  his  pipe,  and 
more  than  usually  melancholy.  His  sadness  always, 
however,  increased  in  the  evening,  so  that  he  hardly 
counted. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  199 

Daniel,  frowning  like  a  Rhine  baron  of  the  good  old 
time,  had  his  books  before  him,  but  they  were  closed. 
It  was  a  bad  sign  that  even  the  Version  in  the  Hebrew 
had  no  attraction  for  him. 

Mr.  Maliphant  alone  was  smiling.  His  smiles,  in 
such  an  assemblage  of  melancholy  faces,  produced  an 
incongruous  effect.  The  atmosphere  was  charged  with 
gloom — it  was  funereal :  in  the  midst  of  it  the  gay  and 
cheerful  countenance,  albeit  wrinkled,  of  the  old  man, 
beamed  like  the  sun  imiDertinently  shining  amid  fog 
and  rain,  sleet  and  snow.  The  thing  was  absurd. 
Harry  felt  the  force  of  Miss  Kennedy's  remark  that  the 
occupants  of  the  room  reminded  her  of  a  fortuitous  con- 
course of  flies,  or  ants,  or  rooks,  or  people  in  an  omni- 
bus, each  of  whom  was  profoundly  occupied  with  its 
own  affairs  and  careless  of  its  neighbors.  Out  of  six 
in  the  room,  five  were  unhappy :  they  did  not  ask  for, 
or  expect,  the  sympathies  of  their  neighbors;  they  did 
not  reveal  their  anxieties ;  they  sat  and  suffered  in  si- 
lence ;  the  sixth  alone  was  quite  cheerful :  it  was  noth- 
ing to  him  Vv'hat  experiences  the  rest  were  having, 
whether  they  were  enjoying  the  upper  airs,  or  endur- 
ing hardness.  He  sat  in  his  own  place  near  the  pro- 
fessor: he  laughed  aloud;  he  even  talked  and  told 
stories,  to  which  no  one  listened.  When  Harry  ap- 
peared, he  was  just  ending  a  story  which  he  had  never 
begun : 

''  So  it  was  given  to  the  other  fellow.  And  he  came 
from  Baxter  Street,  close  to  the  City  Hall,  which  is 
generallv  allowed  to  be  the  wickedest  street  in  New 
York  City" 

He  paused  a  little,  laughed  cheerfully,  rubbed  his  dry 
old  hands  together,  smoked  his  pipe  in  silence,  and  then 
concluded  his  stor}^  having  filled  up  the  middle  in  his 
own  mind,  without  speech. 

"  And  so  he  took  to  the  coasting  trade  off  the  Andes." 

Harry  caught  the  eye  of  the  professor,  and  beckoned 
him  to  come  outside. 

"Now,"  he  said,  taking  his  arm,  "what  the  devil  is 
the  matter  with  all  of  j'ou?" 

The  professor  smiled  feebl}^  under  the  gas-lamp  in 
the  street,  and  instantly  relapsed  into  his  anxious  ex- 
pression. 


200  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  is,  I  guess,  because  they 
haven't  told  me,  that  it's  the  same  with  them  as  with 
me," 

"And  that  is ?" 

The  professor  slapped  his  empty  pockets : 

"  Want  of  cash,"  he  said.  "  I'm  used  to  it  in  the  au- 
tumn, just  before  the  engagements  begin.  Bless  you! 
It's  nothing  to  me;  though,  when  you've  had  no  dinner 
for  a  week,  you  do  begin  to  feel  as  if  you  could  murder 
and  roast  a  cat,  if  no  one  was  looking.  I've  even  be- 
gun to  wish  that  the  Eighth  Commandment  was  sus- 
pended during  the  autumn." 

"  Do  you  mean,  man,  that  you  are  all  hungry?" 

"All  except  old  Maliphant,  and  he  doesn't  count. 
Josephus  had  some  dinner,  but  he  says  he  can't  afford 
supper  and  dinner  too  at  the  rate  his  heels  wear  out. 
Yes,  I  don't  suppose  there's  been  a  dinner  apiece  among 
us  for  the  last  week. " 

"Good  heavens!"  Harry  hurried  off  to  find  the 
landlady. 

She  was  in  the  kitchen  sitting  before  the  fire,  though 
it  was  a  warm  night.  She  looked  up  when  her  lodger 
entered,  and  Harry  observed  that  she,  too,  wore  an  air 
of  dejection. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Bormalack." 

She  gToaned  and  wiped  away  a  tear. 

"My  heart  bleeds  for  them,  Mr.  Gcslett,"  she  said. 
"I  can't  bear  to  set  eyes  on  them;  I  can't  face  them. 
Because  to  do  what  I  shovdd  like  to  do  for  them,  would 
be  nothing  short  of  ruin.  And  how  to  send  them  away 
I  cannot  tell." 

He  nodded  his  head  encouragingly. 

"  You  are  a  young  man,  Mr.  Goslett,  and  you  don't 
consider — and  you  are  thinking  day  and  night  of  that 
sweet  young  thing.  Miss  Kennedy.  And  she  of  you. 
Oh !  you  needn't  blush ;  a  handsome  fellow  like  you  is 
a  i)rize  for  any  woman,  however  good-looking.  Be- 
sides, I've  got  eyes." 

"  Still,  that  doesn't  help  us  much  to  the  point,  Mrs. 
Bormalack,  which  is,  what  can  we  do  for  them?" 

"  Oh,  dear  me!  the  poor  things  don't  board  and  lodge 
any  more,  Mr.  Goslett.  They've  had  no  board  to-day. 
If  I  did  what  I  should  like  to  do — but  I  can't.     There's 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDTTTOXS  OF  MEX.  201 

the  rent  and  rates  and  all.  And  how  I  can  keep  them 
in  the  house,  unless  they  pay  their  rent,  I  can't  tell. 
I've  never  been  so  miserable  since  Captain  Saftrey  went 
away,  owing  for  three  months." 

"'  Not  enough  to  eat?" 

"  Lady  Davenant  came  to  me  this  morning,  and  paid 
the  rent  for  this  week,  but  not  the  board;  said  that  her 
nephew  Nathaniel  hadn't  sent  the  six  dollars,  and  they 
could  only  have  breakfast,  and  must  find  some  cheap 
place  for  dinner  somewhere  else.  In  the  middle  of  the 
day  they  went  out.  Her  ladyship  put  quite  a  chirpy 
face  upon  it ;  said  they  were  going  into  the  citj^  to  get 
dinner,  but  his  lordship  groaned.  Dinner!  They  came 
home  at  two,  and  his  groans  have  been  heart-rending 
all  the  afternoon.     I  never  heard  such  groaning." 

"  Poor  old  man !" 

"  And  there's  the  professor,  too.  It's  low  water  with 
him.  No  one  wants  conjuring  till  winter  comes.  But 
he's  quite  used  to  go  without  his  dinner.  You  needn't 
mind  him !" 

"Eels,"  said  Harry,  "are  used  to  being  skinned. 
Yet  they  wriggle  a  bit." 

He  produced  a  few  coins  and  proffered  a  certain  re- 
quest to  the  landlady.  Then  he  returned  to  his  fellow- 
lodgers. 

Presently  there  was  heard  in  the  direction  of  the 
kitchen  a  cheerful  hissing,  followed  by  a  perfectly  di- 
vine fragrance.  Daniel  closed  his  eyes,  and  leaned 
back  in  his  chair.  The  professor  smiled.  His  lordship 
rolled  in  his  chair  and  groaned.  Presently  Mrs.  Bor- 
malack  appeared,  and  the  cloth  was  laid.  His  lord- 
ship showed  signs  of  an  increasing  agitation.  The 
fragrance  increased.  He  leaned  forward  clutching  the 
arm  of  his  chair,  looking  to  his  wife  as  if  for  help  and 
guidance  at  this  most  difficult  crisis.  He  was  fright- 
fully hungry;  all  his  dinner  had  been  a  biscuit  and  a 
half,  his  wife  having  taken  the  other  half.  What  is  a 
biscuit  and  a  half  to  one  accustomed  to  the  flesh-pots  of 
Canaan  City? 

"Clara  Martha,"  he  groaned,  trN'ing  to  whisper,  but 
failing  in  his  agitation,  "  I  must  have  some  of  that 
beefsteak  or  I  shaU " 

Here  he  relapsed  into  silence  again. 


203  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

It  was  not  from  a  desire  to  watch  the  sufferings  of 
the  unlucky  peer,  or  in  order  to  laugh  at  them,  that 
Harry  hesitated  to  invite  him.  Now,  however,  he  hesi- 
tated no  longer. 

"  I  am  giving  a  little  supper  to-night.  Lady  Dave- 
nant,  to — to — celehrate  my  birthday.  JMa}^  I  hope  that 
you  and  his  lordship  will  join  us?" 

Her  ladyship  most  atl'ably  accepted. 

Weil,  they  were  fed;  they  made  up  for  the  meagre- 
ness  of  the  midday  meal  by  such  a  supper  as  should  be 
chronicled,  so  large,  so  generous  was  it.  Such  a  su]:)per, 
said  the  professor,  as  should  carry  a  man  along  for  a 
week,  were  it  not  for  the  foolish  habit  of  getting  hun- 
gry twice  at  least  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours.  After 
supper  they  all  became  cheerful,  and  presently  went  to 
bed  as  happy  as  if  there  were  no  to-morrow,  and  the 
next  day's  dinner  was  assured. 

When  the}''  were  gone,  Harry  began  to  smoke  his 
evening  pipe.  Then  he  became  aware  of  the  presence 
of  the  two  who  were  left — his  cousin  Josephus  and  old 
Mr.  Maliphant. 

The  former  was  sitting  in  gloomy  silence,  and  the 
latter  was  making  as  if  he  would  say  something,  but 
thought  better  of  it,  and  smiled  instead. 

"Josephus,"  said  Harry,  "what  the  devil  makes  you 
so  gloom}'?     You  can't  be  hungry  still?" 

''^No, "  lie  replied.  "  It  isn't  that ;  a  junior  clerk  fifty- 
five  years  old  has  no  right  to  get  hungry." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  They  talk  of  changes  in  the  office,  that  is  all.  Some 
of  the  juniors  will  be  promoted ;  not  me,  of  course,  and 
some  will  have  to  go.  After  forty  years  in  the  brew- 
ery, I  shall  have  to  go.     That's  all." 

"  Seems  rough,  doesn't  it?  Can't  you  borrow  a  hand- 
ful of  malt,  and  set  up  a  little  brewery  for  yourself?" 

"  It  is  only  starvation.  After  all,  it  doesn't  matter — 
nobody  cares  what  happens  to  a  junior  clerk.  There 
are  plenty  more.  And  the  workhouse  is  said  to  be  well 
managed.  Perhaps  they  will  let  me  keep  their  ac- 
counts. " 

"When  do  you  think — the — the  reduction  will  be 
made?" 

"Next  month,  they  say." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEX.  203 

"Come,  cheer  up,  old  man,"  said  his  cousin,  "  Wh}-, 
if  they  do  turn  you  out — which  would  be  a  burning 
shame — you  can  find  something  better." 

"  No,"  replied  Josephus  sadly,  "  I  know  my  place.  I 
am  a  junior  clerk.  They  can  be  got  to  do  my  work  at 
seven  bob  a  week.     Ah!  in  thousands." 

"Well,  but  can't  j'ou  do  anything  else?" 

"Nothing  else," 

"  In  all  these  years,  man,  have  you  learned  nothing 
at  ah":'" 

"Nothing  at  all." 

Is  there,  thought  Harry,  gazing  upon  his  luckless 
cousin,  a  condition  more  miserable  than  that  of  the 
cheap  clerk?  In  early  life  ^le  learns  to  spell,  to  read, 
to  write,  and  perhaps  keep  books,  but  this  only  if  he  is 
ambitious.  Here  his  education  ends ;  he  has  no  desire 
to  learn  anything  more;  he  falls  into  whatever  place  he 
can  get,  and  then  he  begins  a  life  in  which  there  is  no 
hope  of  preferment  and  no  endeavor  after  better  things. 
There  are,  in  ever}"  civilized  countr}',  thovisands  and 
thousands  of  these  helpless  and  hopeless  creatures :  they 
mostly  suffer  in  silence,  being  at  the  best  ill-fed  and  ill- 
paid,  but  they  sometimes  utter  a  feeble  moan,  when 
one  of  them  can  be  found  with  vitality  enough  about 
their  pay  and  prospects.  No  one  has  yet  told  them  tha 
honest  truth — that  they  are  already  paid  as  much  as  thoy 
deserve;  that  their  miserable  accomplishments  cannot 
for  a  moment  be  compared  with  the  skill  of  an  artisan ; 
that  they  are  self-condemned  because  they  make  no 
effort.  They  have  not  even  the  energy  to  make  a 
Union ;  they  have  not  the  sense  of  self- protection ;  they 
are  content  if  they  are  not  hungry,  if  they  have  tobacco 
to  snioke  and  beer  to  drink. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you — did — whatever  it  was 
you  did,  that  kept  you  down?"  asked  the  younger  man, 
at  length. 

"I  did  nothing.  It  was  an  accident.  Unless," 
added  Josephus  with  a  smile — "  unless  it  was  the  devil. 
But  devils  don't  care  to  meddle  with  junior  clerks." 

"What  was  the  accident,  then?" 

"  It  was  one  day  in  June ;  I  remember  the  day  quite 
well.  I  was  alone  in  my  office,  the  same  office  as  I  am 
in  still.     The  others,  3-ounger  than  myself,  and  I  was 


204  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

then  twenty-one,  were  gone  off  on  business.  The  safe 
stood  close  to  my  desk.  There  was  a  bundle  of  papers 
in  it  sealed  up,  and  marked  'Mr.  Messenger,  Private,' 
which  had  been  there  a  goodish  while,  so  that  I  sup- 
posed they  were  not  important :  some  of  the  books  were 
there  as  well,  and  Mr.  Messenger  himself  had  sent 
down,  only  an  hour  before  .  .  .  before  ...  It  hap- 
pened, a  packet  of  notes  to  be  paid  into  the  bank.  The 
money  had  been  brought  in  by  our  country  collectors 
— fourteen  thousand  pounds,  in  country  bank-notes. 
Now  remember,  I  was  sitting  at  the  desk  and  the  safe 
was  locked,  and  the  keys  were  in  the  desk,  and  no  one 
was  in  the  office  except  me.  And  I  will  swear  that  the 
notes  were  in  the  safe.  •!  told  Mr.  Messenger  that  I 
would  take  my  oath  to  it,  and  I  would  still. "  Josephus 
grew  almost  animated  as  he  approached  the  important 
point  in  his  histor3\ 

"  Well?" 

"  Things  being  so — remember,  no  one  but  me  in  the 
office,  and  the  keys " 

"  I  remember.     Get  along." 

"  I  was  sent  for. " 

"By  Mr.  Messenger?" 

"  Mr.  Messenger  didn't  send  for  junior  clerks.  He 
used  to  send  for  the  heads  of  departments,  who  sent 
for  the  chief  clerks,  who  ordered  the  juniors.  That 
was  the  way  in  those  days.  No,  I  was  sent  for  to  the 
chief  clerk's  office  and  given  a  packet  of  letters  for 
copying.  That  took  three  minutes.  When  I  came 
back  the  office  was  still  empty,  the  safe  was  locked,  and 
the  keys  in  my  desk." 

"Well?" 

"  Well — but  the  safe  was  empty !" 

"What!  all  the  money  gone?" 

"All  gone,  every  farthing — with  Mr.  Messenger's 
private  papers." 

"  What  a  strange  thing !" 

"  No  one  saw  anybody  going  into  the  office  or  coming 
out.     Nothing  else  was  taken." 

"  Come — with  fourteen  thousand  pounds  in  his  hand, 
no  reasonable  thief  would  ask  for  more." 

"  And  what  is  more  extraordinary  still,  not  one  of 
those  notes  has  ever  since  been  presented  for  payment." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  205 

"And  then,  I  suppose,  there  was  a  row." 

Josephus  assented. 

"  First,  I  was  to  be  sacked  at  once;  then  I  was  to  be 
watched  and  searched ;  next,  I  was  to  be  kept  on  until 
the  notes  were  presented  and  the  thief  caught.  I  have 
been  kept  on,  the  notes  have  not  been  presented ;  and 
I've  had  the  same  pay,  neither  more  nor  less,  all  the 
time.  That's  all  the  story.  Now,  there's  to  be  an  end 
of  that.     I'm  to  be  sent  away." 

Mr.  Maliphant  had  not  been  listening  to  the  story  at 
all,  being  pleasantly  occupied  with  his  own  reminis- 
cences. At  this  point  one  of  them  made  him  laugh  and 
rub  his  hands. 

"  When  Mr.  Messenger's  father  married  Susannah 
Coppiu,  I  have  heard " 

Here  he  stopped. 

"Halloo!"  cried  Harry.  " Go  on,  Venerable.  Why, 
we  are  cousins  or  nephews,  or  something,  of  Miss  Mes- 
senger.    Josephus,  my  boy,  cheer  up !" 

Mr.  Maliphant's  memory  now  jumped  over  two  gen- 
erations, and  he  went  on : 

"  Caroline  Coppin  married  a  sergeant  in  the  army, 
and  a  handsome  lad— I  forget  his  name.  But  Mary 
Coppin  married  Bunker.  The  Coppins  were  a  good  old 
W^hitechapel  stock,  as  good  as  the  Messengers.  As  for 
Bunker,  he  was  an  upstart,  he  was;  and  came  from 
Barking,  as  I  always  understood." 

Then  he  was  once  more  silent. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

LADY   DAVENANT. 

It  was  a  frequent  custom  with  Lady  Davenant  to  sit 
with  the  girls  in  the  workroom  in  the  morning.  She 
hked  to  have  a  place  where  she  could  talk;  she  took  an 
ex-professional  interest  in  their  occupation;  she  had 
the  eye  of  an  artist  for  their  interpretation  of  the  fash- 
ion. Moreover,  it  pleased  her  to  be  in  the  company  of 
Miss  Kennedy,  who  was  essentially  a  woman's  woman. 
Men  who  are  so  unhappy  as  to  have  married  a  man's 
woman  will  understand  perfectly  what  I  mean.     On 


206  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEX. 

the  morning  after  Harry's  most  providential  birthday, 
therefore,  when  she  ajjpeared  no  one  was  in  the  least 
disturbed.  But  to-day  she  did  not  greet  the  girls  with 
her  accustomed  stately  inclination  of  the  head  which 
implied  that,  although  now  a  peeress,  she  had  been 
brought  up  to  their  profession  and  in  a  republican 
school  of  thought,  and  did  not  set  herself  up  above  her 
neighbors.  Yet  respect  to  rank  should  be  conceded, 
and  was  expected.  In  general,  too,  she  was  talkative, 
and  enlivened  the  tedium  of  work  with  many  an  anec- 
dote illustrating  Canaan  City  and  its  ways,  or  showing 
the  lethargic  manners  of  the  Davenants,  both  her  hus- 
band and  his,  to  say  nothing  of  the  grandfather,  con- 
tented with  the  lowly  occupation  of  a  wheelwright 
while  he  might  have  soared  to  the  British  House  of 
Lords.  This  morning,  however,  she  sat  down  and  was 
silent,  and  her  head  drooped.  Angela,  who  sat  next 
her  and  watched,  presently  observed  that  a  tear  formed 
in  her  eye,  and  dropped  upon  her  work,  and  that  her 
lips  moved  as  if  she  was  holding  a  conversation  with 
herself.  Thereupon  she  arose,  put  her  hand  ui3on  the 
poor  lady's  arm,  and  drew  her  away  without  a  word  to 
the  solitude  of  the  dining-room,  where  her  ladyship 
gave  way  and  burst  into  an  agony  of  sobbing. 

Angela  stood  before  her,  saying  nothing.  It  was 
best  to  let  the  fit  have  its  way.  When  the  crying  was 
nearly  over,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  her  hair  and  gently 
smoothed  it. 

"Poor  dear  lady,"  she  said,  "will  you  tell  me  what 
has  happened?" 

"Everything,"  she  gasped.  "  Oh,  everything !  The 
six  months  are  all  gone,  all  but  one.  Nephew  Nathan- 
iel writes  to  say  that,  as  we  haven't  even  made  a  start 
all  this  time,  he  reckons  we  don't  count  to  make  any; 
and  he's  got  children,  and  as  for  business,  it's  got  down 
to  the  hard  pan,  and  dollars  are  skurce,  and  we  may 
come  back  again  right  away,  and  there's  the  money  for 
the  voyage  home  whenever  we  like,  but  no  more." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Angela,  beginning  to  understand. 
"And  .   .   .  and  your  husband?" 

"  There's  where  the  real  trouble  begins.  I  wouldn't 
mind  for  myself,  money  or  no  money.  I  would  write  to 
the  Queen  for  money.     I  would  go  to  the  workhouse. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  207 

I  would  beg  my  bread  in  the  street,  but  the  case  I 
would  uever  give  up — never — never — never." 

She  clasped  her  hands,  dried  her  eyes,  and  sat  bolt 
upright,  the  picture  of  unyielding  determination. 

"  And  your  husband  is  not,  perhaps,  so  resolute  as 
yourself?" 

"  He  says,  'Clara  Martha,  let  us  go  hum.  As  for  the 
title,  I  would  sell  it  to  nephew  Nathaniel,  Avho's  the 
next  heir,  for  a  week  of  square  meals ;  he  should  have 
the  coronet,  if  I'd  got  it,  for  a  month's  certainty  of 
steaks  and  chops  and  huckleberry  pie;  and  as  for  my 
seat  in  the  House  of  Lords,  he  should  have  it  for  our 
old  cottage  in  Canaan  City,  which  is  sold,  and  the 
school  which  I  have  given  up  and  lost. '  He  says : 
'Pack  the  box,  Clara  Martha — there  isn't  much  to  pack 
— and  we  will  go  at  once.  If  the  American  Minister 
Avon't  take  up  the  case  for  us,  I  guess  that  the  case 
may  slide  till  Nathaniel  takes  it  up  for  himself.'  That 
is  what  he  says,  Miss  Kennedy,  Those  were  his  words. 
Oh !  Oh !  Oh !  Mr.  Feeblemind !  Oh !  Mr.  Facing- 
Both-Ways !" 

She  wrung  her  hands  in  despair,  for  it  seemed  as  if 
her  husband  would  be  proof  against  even  the  scorn  and 
contempt  of  these  epithets. 

"  But  what  do  3'ou  mean  to  do?" 

"  I  shall  stay,"  she  replied.  "And  so  shall  he,  if  my 
name  is  Lady  Davenant.  Do  3'ou  think  I  am  going 
])ack  to  Canaan  City  to  be  scorned  at  by  Aurelia 
Tucker?  Do  you  think  I  shall  let  that  poor  old  man, 
who  has  his  good  side.  Miss  Kennedy — and  as  for  vir- 
tue he  is  an  angel,  and  he  knows  not  the  taste  of  to- 
bacco or  whiskey — face  his  nephew,  and  have  to  say 
what  good  he  has  done  with  all  those  dollars?  No, 
here  we  stay."  She  snapped  her  lips,  and  made  as  if 
she  would  take  root  upon  that  very  chair.  "  Shall  he 
part  with  his  birthright  like  Esau,  because  he  is  hun- 
gry? Never!  The  curse  of  Esau  would  rest  upon 
us. 

"He's  at  home  now,"  she  went  on,  "preparing  for 
another  day  without  dinner;  groans  won't  help  him 
now;  and  this  time  there  will  be  no  supper — unless  Mr. 
Goslett  has  another  birthday." 

"  Wh\-i  good  gracious,  you  will  be  starved." 


208  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  Better  starve  than  to  go  home  as  we  came.  Be- 
sides, I  shall  write  to  the  Queen  when  there's  nothing 
left.  When  Nathaniel's  money  comes,  which  may  be 
to-morrow,  and  may  be  next  month,  I  shall  give  a 
month's  rent  to  Mrs.  Bormalack,  and  save  the  rest  for 
one  meal  a  day.  Yes,  as  long  as  the  money  lasts,  he 
shall  eat  meat — once  a  day — at  noon.  He's  been  pam- 
pered, like  all  the  Canaan  City  folk ;  set  up  with  turkey 
roast  and  turkey  boiled,  and  ducks  and  beef  every  day, 
and  buckwheat  cakes  and  such.  Oh !  a  change  of  diet 
would  bring  down  his  luxur}^  and  increase  his  pride." 

Angela  thought  that  starvation  was  a  new  way  of 
developing  pride  of  birth,  but  she  did  not  say  so.  "  Is 
there  no  way, "  she  asked,  "  in  which  he  can  earn 
money?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  As  a  teacher  he  was  generally  allowed  to  be  learned, 
but  sleepy.  In  our  city,  however,  the  boys  and  girls 
didn't  expect  too  much,  and  it's  a  sleepy  place.  In 
winter  they  sit  round  the  stove  and  they  go  to  sleep; 
in  summer  they  sit  in  the  shade  and  they  go  to  sleep. 
It's  the  sleepiest  place  in  the  States.  No,  there's  no 
kind  o'  way  in  which  he  can  earn  any  mone}".  And  if 
there  were,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  British  peer  work- 
ing for  his  daih^  bread?" 

"But  you.  Lady  Davenant?  Surely  your  ladyship 
would  not  mind — if  the  chance  offered — if  it  were  a 
thing  kept  secret — if  not  even  your  husband  knew — 
would  not  object  to  earning  something  every  week  to 
find  that  square  meal  which  your  husband  so  naturally 
desires?" 

Her  ladyship  held  out  her  hands  without  a  word. 

Angela,  in  shameful  contempt  of  political  economy, 
placed  in  them  the  work  which  she  had  in  her  own, 
and  whispered : 

"  You  had  better,"  she  said,  "  take  a  week  in  advance. 
Then  you  can  arrange  with  Mrs.  Bormalack  for  the 
usual  meals  on  the  old  terms ;  and  if  you  would  rather 
come  here  to  work,  you  can  have  this  room  to  yourself 
all  the  morning.  Thank  you.  Lady  Davenant.  The 
obligation  is  entirely  mine,  you  know.  For,  really, 
more  delicate  work,  more  beautiful  work,  I  never  saw. 
Do  all  American  ladies  work  so  beautifully?" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  209 

Hor  ladyship,  quite  overcome  with  these  honeyed 
words,  took  the  work  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Only  one  thing,  dear  Lady  Davenant,"  Angela  went 
on,  smiling:  "you  must  promise  me  not  to  work  too 
hard.  You  know  that  such  work  as  yours  is  worth  at 
least  twice  as  much  as  mine.  And  then  you  can  push 
on  the  case,  you  know. " 

The  little  lady  rose,  and  threw  her  arms  round  An- 
gela's neck. 

"My  dear!"  she  cried  with  more  tears,  "you  are 
everybody's  friend.  Oh!  yes,  I  know.  And  how  you 
do  it  and  all — I  can't  think,  nor  Mrs.  Bormalack  nei- 
ther. But  the  da}'  may  come — it  shall  come — when  we 
can  show  our  gratitude." 

She  retired,  takmg  the  work  with  her. 

Her  husband  was  asleep  as  usual,  for  he  had  had 
breakfast,  and  as  yet  the  regidar  pangs  of  noon  were 
not  active.  The  case  was  not  spread  out  l^efore  him, 
as  was  usual  ever  since  Mr.  Goslett  had  taken  it  in 
hand.  It  was  ostentatiously  rolled  up,  and  laid  on  the 
table,  as  if  packed  ready  for  departure  by  the  next  mail. 

His  wife  regarded  him  with  a  mixture  of  affection 
and  contempt. 

"He  would  sell  the  crown  of  England,"  she  mur- 
mured, "  for  roast  turkey  and  apple  fixin's.  The  Dave- 
nants  couldn't  have  been  always  like  that.  It  must  be 
his  mother's  blood.  Yet  she  was  a  church-member, 
and  walked  consistent." 

She  did  not  wake  him  up,  but  sought  out  Mrs.  Bor- 
malack, and  presently  there  was  a  transfer  of  coins  and 
the  Resurrection  of  Smiles  and  Dour  Parler,  that  Fairy 
of  Sweet  Speech,  who  covers  and  hides  beneath  the  cold 
wind  of  poverty. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Goslett,"  said  Angela,  that  evening, 
stih  thinking  over  the  sad  lot  of  the  claimants,  "  tell 
me:  you  have  examined  the  claim  of  these  people — 
what  chance  have  they?" 

"  I  should  sfij  none  whatever." 

"Then  what  makes  them  so  confident  of  success?" 

"Hush!    listen.      They   are   really   confident.      His 

noble  lordship  perfectly  understands  the  weakness  of 

his  claim,  which  depends  u])on  a  pure  assumption,  as 

you  shall  hear.     As  for  the  little  lady,  his  wife,  she  has 

14 


310  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  .MEN. 

long  since  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  assumption 
requires  no  proof.  Therefore,  save  in  moments  of  de- 
jection, she  is  pretty  confident.  Then  they  are  hope- 
lessly ignorant  of  how  they  should  proceed  and  of  the 
necessary  delays,  even  if  their  case  was  unanswerable. 
They  thought  they  had  only  to  cross  the  ocean  and  send 
in  a  statement  in  order  to  get  admitted  to  the  rank  and 
privilege  of  the  peerage.  And  I  believe  they  tliink  that 
the  Queen  will,  in  some  mysterious  way,  restore  the 
property  to  them." 

"  Poor  things !" 

"  Yes,  it's  rather  sad  to  think  of  such  magnificent  ex- 
pectations. Besides,  it  really  is  a  most  beautiful  case. 
The  last  Lord  Davonant  had  one  son.  That  only  son 
grew  up,  had  some  quarrel  with  his  father,  and  sailed 
from  the  port  of  Bristol,  bound  for  some  American 
port,  I  forget  which.  Neither  he  nor  his  ship  was 
ever  heard  of  again.  Therefore  the  title  became  ex- 
tinct." 

"Well?" 

"  Very  good.  Now  the  story  begins.  His  name  was 
Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant,  the  name  always  given 
to  the  eldest  son  of  the  family.  Now,  our  friend's  name 
is  Timothy  Clitheroe  Davenant,  and  so  was  bis  father's, 
and  so  was  his  grandfather's." 

"That  is  very  strange." 

"  It  is  very  strange — what  is  stranger  still  is,  that  his 
grandfather  was  born,  according  to  the  date  on  his 
tomb,  the  same  year  as  the  lost  heir,  and  at  the  same 
place — Davenant,  where  was  the  family-seat." 

"  Can  there  have  been  two  of  the  same  name  bom  in 
the  same  place  and  in  the  same  5'ear?" 

"  It  seems  improbable,  almost  impossible.  Moreover, 
the  last  lord  had  no  brother,  nor  had  his  father,  the  sec- 
ond lord.  I  found  that  out  at  the  Heralds'  College. 
Consequently,  even  if  there  was  another  branch,  and 
the  birth  of  two  Timothys  in  the  same  year  was  cer- 
tain, they  would  not  get  the  title.  So  that  their  one 
hope  is  to  ba  able  to  prove  what  they  call  the  'connec- 
tion.' That  is  to  say,  the  identity  of  the  lost  heir  with 
this  wheelwright." 

"  That  seems  a  very  doubtful  thing  to  do,  after  all 
these  5'ears." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  211 

"  It  is  absolutely  impossible,  unless  some  documents 
are  discovered  which  prove  it.  But  nothing  remains 
of  the  wheelwright." 

"  No  book?     No  papers?" 

"  Nothing,  except  a  small  book  of  songs,  supposed  to 
be  convivial,  with  his  name  on  the  inside  cover,  written 
in  a  sprawling  hand,  and  misspelt,  with  two  v's — 'Dav- 
venant,'  and  above  the  name,  in  the  same  hand,  the 
day  of  the  week  in  which  it  was  written,  'Satturday,' 
with  two  t's.     No  Christian  name." 

"  Does  it  not  seem  as  if  the  absence  of  the  Christian 
name  would  point  to  the  assumption  of  the  title?" 

"Yes:  they  do  not  know  this,  and  I  have  not  yet 
told  them.  It  is,  however,  a  very  small  point,  and 
quite  insufficient  in  itself  to  establish  anything." 

"Yes,"  Angela  mused.  She  was  thinking  whether 
something  could  not  be  done  to  help  these  poor  people 
and  settle  the  case  decisively  for  them  one  way  or  the 
other.     "  What  is  to  be  the  end  of  it?" 

Harry  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Who  knows  how  long  they  can  go  on?  When  there 
are  no  more  dollars,  they  must  go  home  again.  I  hear 
they  have  got  another  supply  of  money :  Mrs.  Borma- 
lack  has  been  paid  for  a  fortnight  in  advance.  After 
that  is  gorfe — perhaps  they  had  better  go  too." 

"It  seems  a  pity,"  said  Angela,  slightly  reddening 
at  mention  of  the  money,  "  that  some  researches  could 
not  be  made,  so  as  to  throw  a  little  light  upon  this 
strange  coincidence  of  names." 

"We  should  want  to  know  first  what  to  look  for. 
After  that,  we  should  have  to  find  a  man  to  conduct  the 
search.     And  then  we  should  have  to  pay  him." 

"As  for  the  man,  there  is  the  professor;  as  for  the 
place,  first,  there  is  the  Heralds'  College,  and  secondly, 
there  are  the  parish  registers  of  the  village  of  Dave- 
nant;  and  as  for  the  money,  why,  it  would  not  cost 
much,  and  I  believe  something  might  be  advanced  for 
them.  If  you  and  I,  Mr.  Goslett,  between  us,  were  to 
pay  the  professor's  expenses,  would  he  go  about  for 
us?" 

She  seemed  to  assume  that  he  was  quite  readj-^  to  join 
her  in  giving  his  money  for  this  object.  Yet  Harry 
was  now  living,  having  refused  his  guardian's  prof- 


213  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

fered  allowance,  on  his  pay  by  the  piece,  which  gave 
him,  as  already  stated,  tenpence  for  every  working 
hour. 

"What  would  the  professor  cost?"  she  asked. 

"The  professor  is  down  upon  his  luck,"  said  Harry. 
"  He  is  so  hard  up  at  present  that  I  believe  we  would 
get  it  for  nothing  but  his  expenses.  Eighteen  shillings 
a  week  would  buy  him  outright  until  his  engagements 
begin  again.  If  there  were  any  travelling  expenses,  of 
course  that  would  be  extra.  But  the  village  of  Dave- 
nant  is  not  a  great  way  off.  It  is  situated  in  Essex, 
and  Essex  is  now  a  suburb  of  London,  its  original 
name  having  been  East-End-seaxas,  which  is  not  gen- 
erally known." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied  gravely.  "That  would  be 
only  nine  shillings  apiece,  say  eleven  hours  of  extra 
work  for  you;  and  probably  it  would  not  last  long, 
more  than  a  week  or  two.  Will  you  give  two  hours  a 
day  to  his  lordship?" 

Harry  made  a  wry  face,  and  laughed.  This  young 
person  had  begun  by  turning  him  into  a  journeyman 
cabinet-maker,  and  was  now  making  him  work  extra 
time.     What  next? 

"Am  I  not  your  slave,  Miss  Kennedy?" 

"  O  Mr.  Goslett,  I  thought  there  was  to  be  no  more 
nonsense  of  that  kind !  You  know  it  can  lead  to  noth> 
ing — even  if  you  desired  that  it  should." 

"  Even?     Miss  Kennedy,  can't  3'ou  see " 

"  No — I  can  see  nothing — I  will  hear  nothing.  Do 
not — O  Mr.  Goslett — we  have  been — we  are — such  ex- 
cellent friends.  You  have  been  so  great  a  help  to  me: 
I  look  to  you  for  so  much  more.  Do  not  spoil  all ;  do 
not  seek  for  what  you  could  never  be :  pray,  pray,  do 
not!" 

She  spoke  with  so  much  earnestness ;  her  eyes  were 
filled  with  such  a  frankness ;  she  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  arm  with  so  charming  camaraderie,  that  he  could 
not  choose  but  obey. 

"It  is  truly  wonderful,"  he  said,  thinking,  for  the 
thousandth  time,  how  this  pearl  among  women  came 
to  Stepney  Green. 

"  What  is  wonderful?"  she  blushed  as  she  asked. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.     Let  us  both  be  frank. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  213 

You  command  me  not  to  say  the  thing  I  most  desire  to 
say.  Very  good,  I  will  be  content  to  wait,  but  under 
one  promise- 


"Whatisthat?" 

"  If  the  reason  or  reasons  which  command  mj'  silence 
should  ever  be  removed — mind,  I  do  not  seek  to  know 
what  they  are — you  will  yourself " 

"  What?"  she  asked,  blushing  sweetly. 

"  You  will  yourself — tell  me  so. " 

She  recovered  her  composure  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  If  at  any  time  I  can  listen  to  you,  I  will  tell  you 
so.     Does  that  content  j'ou?" 

Certainly  not,  but  there  was  no  more  to  be  got; 
therefore  Harry  was  fain  to  be  contented  whether  he 
would  or  not.  And  this  was  only  one  of  a  hundred  lit- 
tle skirmishes  in  which  he  endeavored  to  capture  an 
advanced  fort  or  prepared  to  lay  the  siege  in  form. 
And  always  he  was  routed  with  heavy  loss. 

"  And  now, "  she  went  on,  "  we  will  get  back  to  our 
professor." 

"  Yes.  I  am  to  work  two  extra  hours  a  day  that  he 
may  go  about  in  the  luxury  of  eighteen  shillings  a 
week.  This  it  is  to  be  one  of  the  horny-handed.  What 
is  the  professor  to  do  first?" 

"  Let  us, "  she  said,  ''  find  him  and  secure  his  ser- 
vices." 

It  has  been  seen  that  the  professor  was  already  come 
to  the  period  of  waist-tightening,  which  naturally  fol- 
lows a  too  continued  succession  of  banyan-da5's. 

He  listened  with  avidity  to  any  proposition  which 
held  forth  a  prospect  of  food.  The  work,  he  said,  only 
partly  understanding  it,  would  be  difficult,  but,  there- 
fore, the  more  to  be  desired.  Common  conjurers,  he 
said,  would  spoil  such  a  case.  As  for  himself,  he  would 
undertake  to  do  just  whatever  they  wanted  with  the 
register,  whether  it  was  the  substitution  of  a  page  or 
the  tearing  out  of  a  page,  under  the  verj'  eyes  of  the 
parish  clerk.  "  There  must  be,"  he  said,  "  a  patter  suit- 
able to  the  occasion.  I  will  manage  that  for  you.  I'm 
afraid  I  can't  make  up  as  I  ought  for  the  part,  because 
it  would  cost  too  much,  but  we  must  do  without  that. 
And  now,  Miss  Kennedy,  what  is  it  exactly  that  you 
want  me  to  do?" 


214  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  was  disappointed  on  learning  that  there  would  be 
no  "  palming  "  of  leaves,  old  or  new,  among  the  regis- 
ters; nothing,  in  fact,  but  a  simple  journey,  and  a  sim- 
ple examination  of  the  books.  And  though,  as  he  con- 
fessed, he  had  as  yet  no  experience  in  the  art  of  falsify- 
ing parish  registers,  where  science  was  concerned  its 
interests  were  above  those  of  mere  morality. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

DANIEL   FAGG. 

What  would  have  happened  if  certain  things  had 
not  happened?  This  is  a  question  which  is  seldom  set 
on  examination  papers,  on  account  of  the  great  scope  it 
offers  to  the  imaginative  faculty,  and  we  all  know  how 
dangerous  a  thing  it  is  to  develop  this  side  of  the  human 
mind.  Many  a  severe  historian  has  been  spoiled  by 
developing  his  imagination.  But  for  this,  Scott  might 
have  been  another  Alison  and  Thackeray  a  Mill.  In 
this  Stepney  business  the  appearance  of  Angela  cer- 
tainly worked  changes  at  once  remarkable  and  impossi- 
ble to  be  dissociated  from  her  name.  Thus,  but  for  her, 
the  unfortunate  claimants  must  have  been  driven  back 
to  their  own  country  like  baffled  invaders  "  rolling  sul- 
lenly over  the  frontier."  Nelly  would  have  spent  her 
whole  life  in  the  sadness  of  short  rations  and  long 
hours,  with  hopeless  prayers  for  days  of  fatness.  Re- 
bekah  and  the  improvers  and  the  dressmakers  and  the 
apprentices  would  have  endured  the  like  hardness. 
Harry  would  have  left  the  joyless  city  to  its  joyless- 
ness,  and  returned  to  the  regions  whose  skies  are  all 
sunshine — to  the  young  and  fortunate — and  its  pave- 
ments all  of  gold.  And  there  would  have  been  no  Pal- 
ace of  Delight.  And  what  would  have  become  of  Dan- 
iel Fagg,  one  hardly  likes  to  think.  The  unlucky 
Daniel  had,  indeed,  fallen  upon  very  evil  daj^s.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  longer  a  single  man  left  whom  he  could 
ask  for  a  subscription  to  his  book.  He  had  used  them 
all  up.  He  had  sent  begging  letters  to  every  Fellow 
of  every  scientific  society ;  he  had  levied  contributions 
upon  every  secretary ;  he  had  attacked  in  person  every 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  215 

official  at  the  museums  of  Gr^at  Russell  Street  and 
South  Kensington ;  he  had  tried  all  the  publishers ;  he 
had  written  to  every  bishop,  nobleman,  clergyman,  and 
philanthropist  of  whom  he  could  hear,  pressing  upon 
them  the  claims  of  his  great  Discover5\  Now  he  could 
do  no  more.  The  subscriptions  he  had  received  for 
publishing  his  book  were  spent  in  necessary  food  and 
lodgings :  nobody  at  the  ]\Iuseum  would  even  see  him ; 
he  got  no  more  answers  to  his  letters :  starvation  stared 
him  in  the  face. 

For  three  days  he  had  lived  upon  ninepence.  Three- 
pence a  day  for  food.  Think  of  that,  ye  wlio  are  fed 
regularly,  and  fed  well.  Threepence  to  satisfy  all  the 
cravings  of  an  excellent  appetite !  There  was  now  no 
more  mone}'  left.  And  in  two  days  more  the  week's 
rent  would  be  due. 

On  the  morning  when  he  came  forth,  hungry  and 
miserable,  without  even  the  penny  for  a  loaf,  it  hap- 
pened that  Angela  was  standing  at  her  upper  window, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Green,  and,  fortunately  for  the 
unluclcA-  scholar  that  she  saw  him.  His  strange  be- 
havior made  her  watch  him.  First  he  looked  up  and 
down  the  street  in  uncertainty^;  then,  as  if  he  had  busi- 
ness which  could  not  be  delayed  a  moment,  he  turned 
to  the  right  and  marched  straight  away  toward  the 
Mile  End  Road.  This  was  because  he  thought  he 
would  go  to  the  Head  of  the  Egyptian  Department  at 
the  British  Museum  and  borrow  five  shillings.  Then 
he  stopped  suddenl}- :  this  was  because  he  remembered 
that  he  would  have  to  send  in  his  name,  and  that  the 
chief  would  certainly  refuse  to  see  him.  Then  he 
turned  slowly  and  walked,  dragging  his  limbs  and  hang- 
ing his  head  in  the  opposite  direction — because  he  was 
resolved  to  make  for  the  London  Docks,  and  drop  acci- 
dentally into  the  sluggish  green  water,  the  first  drop 
of  which  kills  almost  as  certainh"  as  a  glass  of  Bourbon 
whiskey.  Then  he  thought  that  there  would  be  some 
luxury  in  sitting  down  for  a  few  moments  to  think 
comfortably  over  his  approaching  demise,  and  of  the 
noise  it  would  make  in  the  learned  world,  and  how 
remorseful  and  ashamed  the  scholars — especially  he  of 
the  Egyptian  Department — would  feel  for  the  short  bal- 
ance of  their  sin-laden  days,  and  he  took  a  seat  on  a 


216  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

bench  in  the  green-garden  with  this  view.  As  he 
thought  he  leaned  forward,  staring  into  vacancy,  and 
in  his  face  there  grew  so  dark  an  expression  of  despair 
and  terror  that  Angela  shuddered  and  ran  for  her  hat, 
recollecting  that  she  had  heard  of  his  poverty  and  dis- 
appointments. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well,  Mr.  Fagg." 

He  started  and  looked  up.  In  imagination  he  was 
already  lying  dead  at  the  bottom  of  the  green-water, 
and  before  his  troubled  mind  there  were  floating  con- 
fused images  of  his  former  life,  now  past  and  dead  and 
gone.  He  saw  himself  in  his  Australian  cottage  arriv- 
ing at  his  grand  discovery ;  he  was  lecturing  about  it 
on  a  platform ;  he^  was  standing  on  the  deck  of  a  ship, 
drinking  farewell  nobblers  with  an  enthusiastic  crowd; 
and  he  was  wandering  hungry,  neglected,  despised, 
about  the  stony  streets  of  London. 

"Well?  No:  I  am  not  well,"  he  replied  presently, 
understanding  things  a  little. 

"  Is  it  distress  of  mind  or  of  body,  Mr.  Fagg?" 

"Yesterday  it  was  both;  to-night  it  will  be  both; 
just  now  it  is  onlj^  one." 

"Which  one?" 

"Mind,"  he  replied  fiercely,  refusing  to  acknowledge 
that  he  was  starving.  He  threw  his  hat  back,  dashed 
his  subscription  book  to  the  ground,  and  banged  the 
unoffending  bench  with  his  fists. 

"As  for  mind,"  he  went  on,  "it's  a  pity  I  was  born 
with  any.  I  wish  I'd  had  no  more  mind  than  my 
neighbors.  It's  mind,  and  nothing  else,  that  has 
brought  me  to  this." 

"What  is  this,  Mr.  Fagg?" 

"  Nothing  to  you.  Go  your  ways ;  you  are  young ; 
you  have  yet  3^our  hopes,  which  may  come  to  nothing, 
same  as  mine;  even  though  they  are  not,  like  mine, 
hopes  of  glor}"  and  learning.  There's  Mr.  Goslett  in 
love  with  you;  what  is  mind  to  j^ou?  Nothing.  And 
you  in  love  with  him.  Very  likely  he'll  go  off  with 
another  woman,  and  then  you'll  find  out  what  it  is  to 
be  disappointed.  What  is  mind  to  anybody?  Noth- 
ing. Do  they  care  for  it  in  the  Museum?  No.  Does 
the  head  of  the  Egyptian  Department  care  for  it?  Not 
he;  not  a  bit.     It's  a  cruel  and  a  selfish  country," 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  317 

"O  Mr.  Fagg!"  She  disregarded  his  allusion  to 
herself,  though  it  was  sufficiently  downright. 

"  Yes :  but  I  will  be  revenged.  I  will  do  something 
— yes — something  that  shall  tell  all  Australia  how  I 
have  been  wronged ;  the  colony  of  Victoria  shall  ring 
with  my  story.  It  shall  Scip  their  loyalty ;  they  shall 
grow  discontented;  they  will  import  more  Irishmen; 
there  shall  be  separation.  Yes :  my  friends  shall  de- 
mand reparation  in  revenge  for  my  treatment." 

"It  is  Christian  to  forgive,  Mr.  Fagg." 

"  I  will  forgive  when  I  have  had  my  revenge.  No 
one  shall  say  I  am  vindictive.  Ah !" — he  heaved  a 
profound  sigh.  "  They  gave  me  a  dinner  before  I  came 
awa}' ;  they  drank  my  health ;  they  all  told  me  of  the 
reception  I  should  get,  and  the  glory  that  awaited  me. 
Look  at  me  now.  Not  one  penny  in  my  pocket.  Not 
one  man  who  believes  in  the  Discovery.  Therefore  I 
may  truly  say  that  it  is  better  to  be  born  without  a 
brain." 

''This  is  your  subscription-book,  I  believe."  She 
took  and  turned  over  its  pages. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Fagg,  3'ou  have  come  to  the  fifty-first 
copy  of  the  book.  Fifty-one  copies  ordered  beforehand 
does"  not  look  like  disbelief.  May  I  add  my  name? 
That  will  make  fifty-two.  Twelve  shillings  and  six- 
pence, I  see.  Oh,  I  shall  look  forward  with  the  greatest 
interest  to  the  appearance  of  the  book,  I  assure  you. 
Yet  3"ou  must  not  expect  of  a  dressmaker  much  knowl- 
edge of  Hebrew,  Mr.  Fagg.  You  great  scholars  must 
be  contented  with  the  simple  admiration  of  ignorant 
work-girls."  He  was  too  far  gone  in  misery  to  be  easily 
soothed,  but  he  began  to  wish  he  had  not  said  that  cruel 
thing  about  possible  desertion  by  her  lover. 

"Admiration!"  he  echoed  with  a  hollow  groan. 
"  And  yesterday  nothing  to  eat  further  than  three- 
})ence,  and  the  day  before  the  same,  and  the  day  before 
that.  In  Australia,  when  I  was  in  the  shoemaking 
line,  there  was  always  plenty  to  eat.  Starvation,  I 
suppose,  goes  to  the  brain.  And  is  the  cause  of  sui- 
cide, too.  I  know  a  beautiful  i)lacc  in  the  London 
Docks,  v/here  the  water's  green  with  minerals.  I  shall 
go  there."  He  pushed  his  hands  deeper  into  his  pock- 
ets, while  his  bushy  eyebrows  frowned  so  horribly  that 


218  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

two  children  who  were  playing  in  the  walk  screamed 
with  terror  and  fled  without  stopping.  ''  That  water 
poisons  a  man  directl3^" 

"Come,  Mr.  Fagg,"  said  Angela,  "we  allow  some- 
thing for  the  superior  activity  of  great  minds.  But  we 
must  not  talk  of  despair,  when  there  should  be  nothing 
Leyond  a  little  despondency." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Too  much  reading  has  probably  disordered  your  di- 
gestion, Mr.  Fagg.  You  want  rest  and  society,  with 
sympathy — a  woman's  sympathy.  Scholars,  perhaps, 
are  sometimes  jealous." 

"Reading  has  emptied  my  purse,"  he  said.  "Sym- 
pathy won't  fill  it." 

"  I  do  not  know — sympathy  is  a  wonderful  medicine 
sometimes ;  it  works  miracles.  I  think,  Mr.  Fagg,  you 
had  better  let  me  pay  my  subscription  in  advance — you 
can  give  me  the  change  when  you  please." 

She  placed  a  sovereign  in  his  hand.  His  fingers 
clutched  it  greedily.  Then  his  conscience  smote  him — 
her  kind  words,  her  flattery,  touched  his  heart. 

"I  cannot  take  it,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Goslett  warned 
me  not  to  take  your  money.  Besides  (he  gasped,-  and 
pointed  to  the  subscription  list) — fifty-one  names! 
They've  all  paid  their  money  for  printing  the  book. 
I've  eaten  up  all  the  money,  and  I  shall  eat  up  yours  as 
well.  Take  the  sovereign  back — I  can  starve.  When 
I  am  dead  I  would  rather  be  remembered  for  my  dis- 
covery than  for  a  shameful  devourer  of  subscription 
money." 

She  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  unresisting  to 
the  establishment. 

"We  must  look  after  you,  Mr.  Fagg,"  she  said. 
"  Now  I  have  got  a  beautiful  room,  where  no  one  sits 
all  day  long  except  sometimes  a  crippled  girl,  and 
sometimes  myself.  In  the  evening  the  girls  have  it. 
You  may  bring  your  books  there,  if  you  like,  and  sit 
there  to  work  when  you  please.  And  by  the  way" — 
she  added  this  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  the  very  least 
consequence,  hardly  worth  mentioning — "  if  you  Avould 
like  to  join  us  any  day  at  dinner  (we  take  our  simple 
meals  at  one),  the  girls,  no  doubt,  will  all  think  it  a 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  210 

great  honor  to  have  so  distinguished  a  scholar  at  table 
with  them." 

Mr.  Fagg  blushed  with  pleasure.  Why— if  the  Brit- 
ish Museum  treated  him  with  contumely;  if  nobody 
would  subscribe  to  his  book ;  if  he  was  weary  of  asking 
and  being  refused— here  was  a  haven  of  refuge,  where 
he  would  receive  some  of  the  honor  due  to  a  scholar. 

"  And  now  that  you  are  here,  Mr.  Fagg  "—said  An- 
gela, when  she  had  broken  bread  and  given  thanks— 
"  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  your  discovery.  Because, 
''  you  see,  we  are  so  ignorant,  we  girls  of  the  working 
classes,  that  I  do  not  exactly  know  what  is  your  dis- 
covery." 

He  sat  down  and  asked  for  a  piece  of  paper.  With 
this  assistance  he  began  his  exposition. 

"  I  was  drawn  to  my  investigation,"  he  said  solemnly, 
"  by  a  little  old  book  about  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients ; 
that  is  now  five  years  ago,  and  I  was  then  fifty-five 
years  of  age.  No  time  to  be  lost  (says  I  to  myself)  if 
anything  is  to  be  done.  The  more  I  read  and  the  more 
I  thought— I  was  in  the  shoemaking  trade  and  I'm  not 
ashamed  to  own  it;  for  it's  a  fine  business  for  such  as 
are  born  with  a  head  for  thinking— the  more  I  thought, 
I  say,  the  more  I  was  puzzled.  For  there  seemed  to 
me  no  way  possible  of  reconciling  what  the  scholars 
said." 

"  You  have  not  told  me  the  subject  of  your  research 
yet." 

"Antiquity,"  he  replied  grandly.  "All  antiquity 
Avas  the  subject  of  my  research.  First,  I  read  about 
the  Egvptians  and  the  hieroglyphics ;  then  I  got  hold 
of  a  new  book,  all  about  the  Assyrians  and  the  cimi- 
form  character." 

"I  see,"  said  Angela.  "You  were  attracted  by  the 
ancient  inscriptions?" 

"Naturally.  Without  inscriptions  where  are  you? 
The  scholars  said  this,  and  the  scholars  said  that— they 
talked  of  reading  the  Eg>']^tian  language  and  the  As- 
syrian and  the  ^Median  and  what  not.  That  wouldn't 
do  for  me." 

The  audacity  of  the  little  man  excited  Angela's  curi- 
osity, which  had  been  languid. 

"Pray  go  on,"  she  said. 


220  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  The  scholars  have  the  same  books  to  go  to  as  me, 
yet  they  don't  go — they've  eyes  as  good,  but  they  won't 
use  them.  Now  follow  me,  miss,  and  you'll  be  sur- 
prised. When  Abraham  went  down  into  Egypt,  did  he 
understand  their  language,  or  didn't  he?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose — at  least,  it  is  not  said  that  he  did 
not." 

"  Of  course  he  did.  When  Joseph  went  there,  did  he 
understand  them?  Of  course  he  did.  When  Jacob 
and  his  sons  came  into  the  country,  did  they  talk  a 
strange  speech?  Not  they.  When  Solomon  married 
an  Egyptian  princess,  did  he  understand  her  talk? 
Why,  of  course  he  did.  Now,  do  you  guess  what's 
coming  next?" 

"No— not  at  all." 

"  None  of  the  scholars  could.  Listen,  then :  if  they 
all  understood  each  other,  they  must  all  have  talked  the 
same  language — mustn't  they?" 

"  Why,  it  would  seem  so. " 

"  It's  a  sound  argument,  which  can't  be  denied. 
Nobody  can  denj^  it — I  defy  them.  If  they  understood 
each  other  there  must  have  been  a  common  language. 
Where  did  this  common  language  spread?  Over  all 
the  countries  thereabout.  What  was  the  common  lan- 
guage?    Hebrew." 

"  Oh,"  said  Angela,  "then  they  all  talked  Hebrew?" 

"  Every  man  Jack — nothing  else  known.  What 
next?  They  wanted  to  write  it.  Now  we  find  what 
seems  to  be  one  character  in  Egypt,  and  another  in 
Syria,  and  another  in  Arabia,  and  another  in  Phoe- 
nicia, and  another  in  Judsea.  Bless  you !  I  know  all 
about  these  alphabets.  What  I  say  is — if  a  common 
language,  then  a  common  alphabet  to  write  it  with." 

"  I  see.  A  common  alphabet,  which  you  discovered, 
perhaps?" 

"  That,  young  lady,  is  my  discovery — that  is  the  great- 
est discovery  of  the  age.  I  found  it  myself,  once  a 
small  shoemaker  in  a  little  Victorian  township- — I  alone 
found  out  that  common  alphabet,  and  have  come  over 
here  to  make  it  known.  Not  bad,  says  you,  for  a  shoe- 
maker, who  had  to  teach  himself  his  own  Hebrew." 

"  And  the  scholars  here " 

" They're  jealous — that's  what  it  is;  they're  jealous. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  221 

Most  of  them  have  written  books  to  prove  other  things, 
and  they  won't  give  in  and   own   that  they've  been 

wrong.     My  word !  the  scholars "     He  paused  and 

shook  his  hand  before  her  face.  "Some  of  them  have 
got  the  Hebrew  alphabet,  and  try  to  make  out  how  one 
letter  is  a  house  and  another  a  bull's  head.  And  so  on. 
And  some  have  got  the  cuneiforms,  and  they  make  out 
that  one  bundle  of  arrows  is  an  A  and  another  a  B. 
And  so  on.  And  some  have  got  the  hieroglyphic,  and 
it's  the  same  game  with  all.  While  I — if  you  please — 
with  my  little  plain  discovery  just  show  that  all  the 
different  alphabets — different  to  outward  seeming — are 
really  one  and  the  same." 

"This  is  very  interesting,"  said  Angela.  The  little 
man  was  glowing  with  enthusiasm  and  pride.  He  was 
transformed ;  he  walked  up  and  down  throwing  about 
his  arms ;  he  stood  before  her  looking  almost  tall ;  his 
eyes  flashed  with  fire,  and  his  voice  was  strong.  "  And 
can  you  read  inscriptions  by  your  simple  alphabet?" 

"There  is  not,"  he  replied,  "a  single  inscription  in 
the  British  Museum  that  I  can't  read.  I  just  sit  down 
before  it,  with  my  Hebrew  dictionary  in  my  hand — I 
didn't  tell  you  I  learned  Hebrew  on  purpose,  did  I? — 
and  I  read  that  inscription,  however  long  it  is.     Ah !" 

"  This  seems  extraordinary.  Can  you  show  me  your 
alphabet?" 

He  sat  do\vn  and  began  to  make  figures. 

"  What  is  the  simplest  figure?  A  circle;  a  square;  a 
naught?  No.  A  triangle.  Very  good,  then.  Do 
3'ou  think  they  were  such  fools  as  to  copy  a  great  ugly 
bviU's  head  when  they'd  got  a  triangle  read}^  to  their 
hands,  and  easy  to  draw?  Not  they :  they  just  made  a 
triangle — so — "  [he  drew  an  equilateral  triangle  on  its 
base],  "and  called  it  the  first  letter;  and  two  triangles, 
one  atop  the  other — so — ^and  called  that  the  second  let- 
ter. Then  they  struck  their  triangle  in  another  po- 
sition, and  it  was  the  third  letter ;  and  in  another,  and 
its  fourth "  Angola  felt  as  if  her  head  was  swim- 
ming as  he  manipulated  his  triangles,  and  rapidly  pro- 
duced his  primitive  alphabet,  which  realh'  did  present 
some  resemblance  to  the  modern  sj'mbols.  "  There — 
and  there — and  there — and  what  is  that;  and  this? 
And  so  you've  got  the  whole.     Now,  young  lady,  with 


223  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  HEN. 

this  in  yoar  hand,  which  is  the  key  to  all  learning — • 
and  the  Hebrew  dictionaiy,  there's  nothing  you  can't 
manage." 

"  And  an  account-  of  this  is  to  be  given  in  your  book, 
is  itV" 

"  That  is  the  secret  of  my  book.  Now  you  know 
what  it  was  I  found  out ;  now  you  see  why  my  friends 
paid  my  passage  home,  and  are  now  looking  for  the 
glory  which  they  prophesied." 

"  Don't  get  gloomy  again,  Mr.  Fagg.  It  is  a  long 
lane,  you  know,  that  has  no  turning.  Let  us  hope  for 
better  luck." 

"  No  one  will  ever  know, "  he  went  on,  "  the  inscrip- 
tions that  I  have  found — and  read — in  the  Museum. 
They  don't  know  what  they've  got.  I've  told  nobody 
yet,  but  they  are  all  in  the  book,  and  I'll  tell  you  before- 
hand, Miss  Kennedy,  because  you've  been  kind  to  me. 
Yes,  a  woman  is  best;  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  wo- 
man first.  I  would  marry  3'ou,  Miss  Kennedy — I  would 
indeed ;  but — I  am  too  old,  and  besides,  I  don't  think 
I  could  afford  a  family." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Fagg,  all  the  same.  You  do  me  a 
great  honor.     But  about  these  inscriptions?" 

"Mind,  it's  a  secret."  He  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
whisper.  "  There's  cuniform  inscriptions  in  the  Mu- 
seum with  David  and  Jonathan  on  them — ah ! — and 
Balaam  and  Balak — Alio!" —  he  positively  chuckled 
over  the  thought  of  these  great  finds — "  and  the  whole  life 
of  Jezebel — Jezebel !  What  do  you  think  of  that?  And 
what  else  do  3"ou  think  they  have  got,  only  they  don't 
know  it?  The  two  tables  of  stone!  Nothing  short  of 
the  two  tables,  with  the  Ten  Commandments  written 
out  at  length !" 

Angela  gazed  with  amazement  at  this  admirable 
man :  his  faith  in  himself ;  his  audacity ;  the  grandeur 
of  his  conceptions;  the  wonderful  power  of  his  imag- 
ination overwhelmed  her.  But,  to  be  sure,  she  had 
never  before  met  a  genuine  enthusiast. 

''  I  know  where  they  are  kept ;  nobody  else  knows.  It 
is  in  a  dark  corner;  they  are  each  about  two  feet  high, 
and  there's  a  hole  in  the  corner  of  each  for  Moses' 
thumb  to  hold  them  by.  Think  of  that !  I've  read  them 
all  through — only,"  he  added  with  a  look  of  bewilder- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  223 

ment,  "  I  think  there  must  bo  something  wrong  with 
my  Hebrew  dictionary,  because  none  of  the  command- 
ments read  quite  right.  One  or  two  come  out  quite  sur- 
prising. Yet  the  stones  must  be  right,  mustn't  they? 
There  can  be  no  question  about  that,  and  the  discovery 
must  be  right.  No  question  about  that.  And  as  for 
the  dictionaries — who  put  them  together?  Tell  me  that ! 
Yah !  the  scholars !" 


CHAPTER  XXni. 

THE    MISSING    LINK. 

The  professor  then  started  on  his  quest  with  a  cheer- 
ful heart,  caused  by  the  certainty  of  dinner  for  some 
days  to  come.  But  he  was  an  honest  Professor,  and  he 
did  not  prolong  his  absence  for  the  sake  of  those  din- 
ners. On  the  other  hand,  he  made  the  most  rapid  dis- 
patch consistent  with  thorough  work,  and  returned 
after  an  absence  of  four  days,  bearing  with  him  the 
fruits  of  his  research. 

"I  think,"  said  Harry,  after  readiug  his  report,  "I 
think.  Miss  Keunedj^,  that  we  have  found  the  Missing 
Link." 

"  Then  they  really  will  make  their  claim  good?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that — quite.  I  said  that  we  have 
found  a  Missing  Link.  There  might  be,  if  j^ou  will 
think  of  it — two.  One  of  them  would  have  connected 
the  condescending  wheelwright  with  his  supposed  par- 
ent, the  last  Lord  Davenant.  The  other  would  connect 
him  with — quite  another  father. " 

The  truth,  which  was  for  some  time  carefully  con- 
cealed from  the  illustrious  pair,  was,  in  fact,  this. 

There  is  a  village  of  Davenant,  surrounding  or  adjoin- 
ing a  castle  of  Davenant,  just  as  Alnwick,  Arundel,  Dur- 
ham, Lancaster,  Chepstow,  Ragland,  and  a  great  many 
more  English  towns  have  a  castle  near  them.  And 
whether  Davenant  town  was  built  to  be  protected  by  the 
castle,  or  the  castle  for  the  protection  of  the  town,  is  a 
point  on  wliich  I  must  refer  you  to  the  county  historian, 
who  knows  all  about  it,  and  is  not  likely  to  deceive  you  on 
so  important  a  point.     The  castle  is  now  a  picturesque 


234  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

ruin,  with  a  country-house  built  beside  it.  In  this 
country-house  the  last  Lord  Davenant  died  and  the 
last  heir  to  the  title  v/as  born.  There  is  an  excellent 
old  church,  with  a  tower  and  ivy,  and  high-pitched 
roof,  as  an  ancient  church  should  have,  and  in  the  fam- 
ily vault  under  the  chancel  all  the  Davenants,  except 
the  last  heir,  lie  buried. 

There  is  also  in  the  village  a  small  country  inn  called 
the  Davenant  Arms,  where  the  professor  put  up  and 
where  he  made  himself  extraordinarily  popular,  be- 
cause, finding  himself  among  an  assemblage  of  folk  slow 
to  see  and  slower  still  to  think,  he  astonished  them  for 
four  nights  consecutively.  The  rustics  still  tell,  and 
will  continue  to  tell,  so  long  as  memory  lasts,  of  the 
wonderful  man  who  took  their  money  out  of  their 
waistcoats,  exchanged  handkerchiefs,  conveyed  pota- 
toes into  strange  coat-pockets,  read  their  thoughts, 
picked  out  the  cards  the}-  had  chosen,  made  them  take 
a  card  he  had  chosen  whether  they  wanted  it  or  not, 
caused  balls  of  glass  to  vanish,  changed  halfpence  into 
half-crowns,  had  a  loaded  pistol  fired  at  himself  and 
caught  the  ball,  with  other  great  marvels,  all  for  noth- 
ing, to  oblige  and  astonish  the  villagers,  and  for  the 
good  of  the  house.  These  are  the  recreations  of  his 
evening  hours.  The  mornings  he  spent  in  the  vestry 
of  the  old  church  searching  the  registers. 

There  was  nothing  professional  about  it,  only  the 
drudgery  of  clerk's  work ;  to  do  it  at  all  was  almost 
beneath  his  dignity;  yet  he  went  through  with  it  con- 
scientiously, and  restrained  himself  from  inviting  the 
sexton,  who  stayed  with  him,  to  lend  him  his  hand- 
kerchief or  to  choose  a  card.  Nor  did  he  even  hide*  a 
card  in  the  sexton's  pocket,  and  then  convey  it  into  the 
parish  register.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  He  w^as  sternly 
practical,  and  searched  diligently.  Nevertheless,  he 
noted  how  excellent  a  place  for  the  simple  feasts  would 
be  the  reading-desk.  The  fact  is,  that  gentlemen  of  his 
profession  never  go  to  church,  and,  therefore,  are  ig- 
norant of  the  uses  of  its  various  parts.  On  Sunday 
morning  they  lie  in  bed;  on  Sunday  afternoon  they 
have  dinner,  and  perhaps  the  day's  paper,  and  on  Sun- 
day evening  they  gather  at  a  certain  house  of  call  for 
conjurers  in  Drury  Lane,  and  practise  on  each  other. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  225 

There  is,  therefore,  no  room  in  the  conjurer's  life  for 
church.  Some  remedy  should  be  found  for  this  by  the 
bishops. 

"  What  have  I  got  to  look  for?"  said  the  professor, 
as  the  sexton  produced  the  old  books.  "  Well,  I've  got 
to  find  what  families  there  were  living  here  a  hundred 
years  ago,  or  thereabouts,  named  Davenant,  and  what 
Christian  names  they  had,  and  whether  there  were  two 
children  born  and  baptized  here  in  one  year,  both  bear- 
ing the  name  of  Davenant." 

The  sexton  shook  his  head.  He  was  only  a  middle- 
aged  man,  and  therefore  not  3"et  arrived  at  sextonial 
ripeness ;  for  a  sexton  only  begins  to  be  mellow  when 
he  is  ninet}'  or  thereabouts.  He  knew  nothing  of  the 
Davenants  except  that  there  were  once  Lords  Dave- 
nant, now  lying  in  the  family  vault  below  the  chancel, 
and  none  of  them  left  in  the  parish  at  all,  nor  any  in 
his  memory,  nor  in  that  of  his  father's  before  him,  so 
far  as  he  could  tell. 

After  a  careful  examination  of  the  books,  the  pro- 
fessor was  enabled  to  state  with  confidence  that  at  the 
time  in  question  the  Davenant  name  was  borne  by  none 
but  the  family  at  the  castle;  that  there  were  no  cousins 
of  the  name  in  the  place;  and  that  the  heir  born  in  that 
year  was  christened  on  such  a  daj^,  and  received  the 
name  of  Timoth}-  Clitheroe. 

If  this  had  been  the  only  evidence,  the  ■case  would 
have  made  in  favor  of  the  Canaan  City  claimant ;  but, 
unfortunately,  there  was  another  discovery  made  by  the 
professor,  at  sight  of  which  he  whistled,  and  then  shook 
his  head,  and  then  considered  whether  it  would  not  be 
best  to  cut  out  the  page,  while  the  sexton  thought  he 
was  forcing  a  card,  or  palming  a  ball,  or  boiling  an 
egf^,  or  some  other  ingenious  feat  of  legerdemain.  For 
he  instantly  perceived  that  tlie  fact  recorded  before  his 
eyes  had  an  all-important  bearing  upon  the  case  of  his 
illustrious  friends. 

The  little  story  which  he  saw  was,  in  short,  this : 

In  the  same  year  of  the  birth  of  the  infant  Timothy 
Clitheroe,  there  was  born  of  a  poor  vagrant  woman, 
wlio  wandered  no  one  knew  where  from,  into  the  parish 
and  died  in  giving  him  to  the  world,  a  man-child. 
Thei'e  was  no  one  to  rejoice  over  him,  or  to  welcome 


226  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

him,  or  to  claim  him  :  therefore  ho  became  parish  prop- 
erty, and  had  to  be  christened,  fed,  flogged,  admon- 
ished, and  educated,  so  far  as  education  in  those  daj's 
was  considered  necessar}-,  at  the  charge  of  the  parish. 
The  first  step  was  to  give  him  a  name.  For  it  Avas 
formerly,  and  may  be  still,  a  custom  in  country  par- 
ishes to  name  a  waif  of  this  kind  after  the  village  itself, 
which  accounts  for  many  odd  surnames,  such  as  Step- 
ne}',  Marylebone,  or  Hoxton.  It  was  not  a  good  cus- 
tom, because  it  might  lead  to  complications,  as  perhaps 
it  did  in  this  case,  when  there  was  already  another 
family  legitimately  entitled  to  bear  the  name.  The  au- 
thorities, following  this  custom,  conferred  upon  the 
baby  the  lordly  name  of  Davenant.  Then,  as  it  v/as 
necessary  that  he  sliould  have  a  Christian  name,  and  ic 
would  be  a  pity  to  waste  good  Richard  or  Robin  upon  a 
beggar  brat,  they  gave  him  the  day  of  the  week  on 
which  he  was  born.  This  was  intended  to  keep  him 
humble,  and  to  remind  him  that  he  had  no  right  to  any 
of  the  distinguished  Christian  names  bestowed  upon 
respectably  born  children. 

He  w^as  called  Saturday  Davenant. 

The  name,  the  date,  and  the  circumstances  were 
briefly  recorded  in  the  parish  register. 

In  most  cases  this  book  contains  three  entries  for  each 
name — those  of  the  three  important  events  in  his  life; 
the  beginning,  the  marrying,  which  is  the  making  or 
the  marring,  and  the  ending.  One  does  not  of  course 
count  the  minor  occasions  in  which  he  ma}'  be  men- 
tioned, as  on  the  birth  or  death  of  a  child.  The  pro- 
fessor turned  over  the  pages  of  tlie  register  in  vain  for 
any  farther  entr}^  of  this  Saturday  Davenant. 

He  appeared  no  more.  His  one  public  appearance, 
as  far  as  history  records  it,  was  on  that  joyful  occasion 
when,  held  in  hireling  arms,  he  was  received  into  the 
Christian  Church.  The  one  thing  to  Avhich  he  was 
bom  was  his  brotherhood  in  the  Christian  faith — no 
doubt  the  grandest  of  all  possessions,  yet  in  itself  not 
professing  to  provide  the  material  comforts  of  life.  The 
baby  was  presented  at  the  font,  received  a  contempt- 
uous name,  squealed  a  little,  no  doubt,  when  he  felt  the 
cold  water,  and  then — then — nothing  more.  What  he 
did,  whither  he  went,  where  he  died,  might  be  left  to 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  327 

conjecture.  A  parish  brat,  a  cottage  home,  bread  and 
bacon  to  eat,  with  more  bread  and  bacon,  plenty  of 
stick,  the  Chiu'ch  Catechism,  and  particular  attention 
called  to  the  clauses  about  picking-  and  stealing;  prac- 
tical work  as  a  scarecrow  at  seven ;  the  plough  later  on ; 
for  pleasures,  quarter-staff,  wrestling,  tigliting,  bull- 
baiting  and  i)erhaps  poaching,  with  strong  beer  and  small 
beer  for  drink;  presently  a  wife,  then  children,  then  old 
age,  then  death.  One  was  free  to  conjecture,  because 
there  was  no  more  mention  of  this  bab}" ;  he  did  not  marry 
in  the  parish,  nor  did  he  die  in  it.  He,  therefore,  went 
awa}'.  In  those  days,  if  a  man  went  away  it  was  for 
two  reasons :  either  he  fell  into  trouble  and  went  awa}', 
to  escape  the  wrath  of  the  squire;  or  he  enlisted, 
marched  off  with  beer  in  his  head  and  ribbons  in  his 
hat,  swore  terribly  with  the  army  in  Flanders,  and 
presently  earned  the  immortal  glory  which  England 
rejoices  to  confer  upon  the  private  soldier  who  falls  upon 
the  ensanguined  field.  The  enjoyment  of  this  glory 
is  such  a  solid,  substantial,  and  satisfying  thing  that 
fighting  and  war  and  the  field  of  honor  are,  and  al- 
waj's  will  be,  greatly  beloved  and  desired  by  private 
soldiers. 

There  was  no  other  entry  of  this  boy's  name.  When 
the  professor  had  quite  satisfied  himself  upon  this 
point  he  turned  back  to  the  first  entry,  and  then  became 
aware  of  a  note,  in  faded  ink,  now  barely  legible, 
written  in  the  margin.  It  was  as  follows,  and  he  cop- 
ied it  exactly : 

"  '^'^  above  ^  Saturday  ^°*  was  a  Roag  in  Grane; 
he  was  bro't  up  in  the  fear  of  God  yet  Feared  Him  not; 
taught  his  Duty,  yet  did  it  not;  admonished  without 
stint  of  Rodd  in  Virtue,  j^et  still  inclined  to  Vice :  he 
wns  appd  to  the  wheelwright — was  skillful,  yet  indolent ; 
notorious  as  a  Poacher  who  could  not  be  caught;  a  De- 
ceiver of  Maidens;  a  Tosspot  and  a  Striker.  Gom- 
I)elled  to  leave  the  Parish  to  avoid  Prison  and  the  Lash 
he  went  to  London,  Ldtronuni  officiua.  Was  reported 
to  have  been  sent  to  His  Majesty's  Plantations  in  Vir- 
ginia, whereof  nothing  certain  is  known. 

This  was  the  note  which  the  professor  read  and  cop- 


228  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

ied  out,  with  misgivings  that  it  would  not  prove  accept- 
able. Of  course,  he  knew  the  story  and  quite  under- 
stood what  this  might  mean. 

The  next  day,  nothing  more  remaining  to  be  found 
in  the  register,  the  professor  examined  the  brasses  and 
tablets  in  the  church,  and  paid  a  visit  to  the  castle. 
And  when  he  had  faithfully  executed  his  commission, 
he  went  away,  amid  the  regrets  of  the  villagers,  who 
had  never  before  been  entertained  by  so  delightful  and 
surprising  a  stranger,  and  brought  back  his  spoils. 

"  What  are  we  to  think,"  said  Harry,  after  reading 
this  report.  "'The  Roag  in  Grane,'  this  wheelwright 
by  trade,  who  can  he  be  but  the  grandfather  of  our 
poor  old  friend?" 

"  I  fear  it  must  be  so, "  said  Angela.  "  Saturday 
Davenant.     Remember  the  little  book." 

"Yes,"  said  Harry,  "the  little  book  came  into  my 
mind  at  once." 

"Not  a  doubt,"  added  the  professor.  "Why,  it 
stands  to  reason.  The  fellow  found  himself  a  long  way 
from  England,  among  strangers,  with  no  money  and 
only  his  trade.  What  was  to  prevent  him  from  pre- 
tending to  be  one  of  the  family  whose  name  he  bore?" 

"  And  at  the  same  time, "  said  Harry,  "  with  reserve. 
He  never  seems  to  have  asserted  that  he  was  the  son 
of  Lord  Davenant :  he  only  threw  out  ambiguous  words ; 
he  fired  the  imagination  of  his  son ;  he  christened  him 
by  the  name  of  the  lost  heir ;  he  pretended  that  it  was 
his  own  Christian  name,  and  it  was  not  until  they 
found  out  that  this  was  the  hereditary  name  that  the 
claim  was  thought  of.  This  poacher  and  striker  seems 
to  have  possessed  considerable  native  talent." 

"But  what,"  asked  Angela,  "are  we  to  do?" 

"Let  us  do  nothing,  Miss  Kennedy.  We  have  our 
secret,  and  we  may  keep  it  for  the  present.  Meantime, 
the  case  is  hopeless  on  account  of  the  absolute  impossi- 
bility of  connecting  the  wheelwright  with  the  man  sup- 
posed to  have  been  drowned.  Let  them  go  on  'enjoy- 
ing '  the  title,  ignorant  of  the  existence  of  this  unlucky 
Saturday  Davenant. " 

So,  for  the  present,  the  thing  was  hidden  away,  and 
nothing  was  said  about  it.  And  though  about  this 
time  the  Professor  gave  one  or  two  entertainments  in 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  229 

the  drawing-room,  we  cannot  suppose  that  his  silence 
was  bought,  and  it  would  be  unjust  to  the  noble  pro- 
fession of  which  he  was  a  member  to  think  that  he 
would  let  out  the  secret  had  not  Miss  Kennedy  paid  him 
for  their  performance.  Indeed,  the  Professor  was  an 
extremely  honorable  man,  and  would  have  scorned  to 
betray  confidence,  and  it  was  good  to  Miss  Kennedy  to 
find  out  that  an  evening  of  magic  and  miracle  would  do 
the  girls  good. 

But  a  profound  pity  seized  the  heart  of  Angela. 
These  poor  people  who  believed  themselves  to  be  entitled 
to  an  English  peerage,  who  were  so  mistaken,  who 
would  be  so  disappointed,  who  were  so  ignorant,  who 
knew  so  little  what  it  was  they  claimed — could  not 
something  be  done  to  lessen  their  disappointment,  to 
break  their  fall? 

She  pondered  long  over  tliis  difficulty.  That  they 
would  in  the  end  have  to  return  to  their  own  country 
M-as  a  thing  about  which  there  could  be  no  doubt  what- 
ever ;  that  they  should  return  with  no  knowledge  what- 
ever of  the  reality  of  the  thing  they  had  claimed ;  what 
it  meant,  what  it  involved,  its  splendors  and  its  obli- 
gations, seemed  to  her  a  very  great  pity.  A  little  ex- 
perience, she  thought  even  a  glimpse  of  the  life  led  by 
the  best  bred  and  most  highly  cultivated  and  richest 
people  in  England  would  be  of  so  much  advantage  to 
them  that  it  would  show  them  their  own  unfitness  for 
the  rank  which  they  assumed  and  claimed.  And  pres- 
ently she  arrived  at  a  project  which  she  put  into  exe- 
cution without  delay.  What  this  was  you  will  pres- 
ently see. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

i  , 

LORD    JOCELYX  S    TROUBLES. 

As  the  season  advanced  and  the  autumn  deepened 
into  winter,  Angela  found  that  there  were  certain  social 
duties  which  it  was  imjxjssible  altogether  to  escape. 
The  fiction  of  the  country-house  was  good  enough  for 
the  general  world,  but  for  her  more  intimate  friends 
and  cousins  this  would  not  do  for  long.     Therefore, 


230  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

while  she  kept  the  facts  of  her  present  occupation  and 
place  of  residence  a  secret  from  all  except  Constance 
Woodcote,  now  the  unsympathizing,  she  could  not 
wholly  shut  herself  off  from  the  old  circle.  Among 
others  there  was  one  lady  whose  invitations  she  was  in 
a  sense  bound  to  acceiDt.  What  her  obligations  were, 
and  who  this  lady  was,  belong  in  no  way  to  this  history 
— that  is  to  say,  the  explanation  belongs  to  Angela's 
simple  chronicle  of  the  old  days,  when  she  was  only 
Miss  Messenger,  the  heiress  presumptive  of  the  great 
brewery.  Therefore,  it  need  not  concern  us.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  she  was  a  lady  in  society,  and  that  she 
gave  great  dinners,  and  held  other  gatherings,  and  was 
at  all  times  properly  awake  to  the  attractions  which  the 
3^oung  and  beautiful  and  wealth}^  Angela  Messenger 
lent  to  her  receptions. 

On  this  occasion  Constance  Woodcote,  among  others, 
was  invited  to  meet  her  old  friend ;  she  came,  but'  she 
was  ungracious,  and  Angela  felt,  more  than  she  had 
expected,  how  great  already  was  the  gulf  between  the 
old  days  of  Newnham  and  her  life  of  active,  practical 
work.  Six  months  before  such  coldness  w^ould  have 
hurt  and  pained  her ;  now  she  hardly  felt  it.  Yet  Con- 
stance meant  to  demonstrate  by  a  becoming  frost  of 
manner  how  grievous  was  her  disappointment  about 
those  scholarships.  Then  there  were  half  a  dozen  men 
— unmarried  men,  men  in  society,  men  of  clubs,  men 
who  felt  strongly  that  the  possession  of  Miss  Messen- 
ger's millions  might  reconcile  them  to  matrimony,  and 
were  much  interested  by  the  possibility  of  an  introduc- 
tion to  her,  and  came  away  disappointed  because  they 
got  nothing  out  of  her,  not  even  an  encouragement  to 
talk;  and  everybody  said  that  she  was  singularly  cold, 
distraite,  and  even  embarrassed  that  evening;  and 
those  who  had  heard  that  Miss  Messenger  was  a  3'oung 
lady  of  great  conversational  powers  went  away  cyn- 
ically supposing  that  any  young  lady  with  less  than 
half  her  money  could  achieve  the  same  reputation  at 
the  same  cost  of  energy.  The  reason  of  this  coldness, 
this  preoccupation,  was  as  follows. 

The  dinner-party  was  large,  and  the  conversation  by 
no  means  general.  So  far  as  Angela  was  concerned,  it 
was  held  entirely  with  the  man  who  took  her  down, 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  231 

and  his  name  was  Lord  Jocelyn  le  Breton — a  rugged- 
faced  man,  with  a  pleasing  manner  and  an  agreeable 
voice ;  no  longer  young.  He  talked  to  her  a  good  deal 
in  a  light,  irresponsible  vein,  as  if  it  mattered  very  lit- 
tle what  he  said  so  that  it  amused  the  young  lady.  He 
discoursed  about  many  things,  principally  about  din- 
ners, asking  Angela  what  were  her  own  views  as  to  din- 
ners, and  expostulating  with  her  feminine  contempt  for 
the  subject.  "  Each  dinner,"  he  said,  "  should  be  like  a 
separate  and  distinct  work  of  art,  and  should  be  con- 
trived for  different  kinds  of  wine.  There  should  be  a 
champagne  dinner,  for  instance,  light,  and  composed 
of  many  dishes,  but  some  of  these  substantial;  there 
should  be  a  claret  dinner,  grave  and  conscientious ;  a 
Burgundy  dinner  of  few  courses,  and  those  solid;  a 
German  wine  dinner,  in  which  only  the  simplest  j?/a^es 
should  appear.  But  unto  harmony  and  consistency  in 
dining  we  have  not  yet  arrived.  Perhaps,  Miss  Mes- 
senger, you  may  be  induced  to  bring  your  intellect  to 
bear  upon  the  subject.  I  hear  you  took  high  honors 
at  Newnham  lately." 
She  laughed. 
"  You  do  too  much  honor  to  my  intellect.  Lord  Joce- 
lyn. At  Newnham  they  teach  us  political  economy, 
but  they  have  not  trusted  us  with  the  art  of  dining. 
Do  you  know,  we  positively  did  not  care  much  what  we 
had  for  dinner  I" 

"  My  ward,  Harry,  used  to  say — but  I  forget  if  you 
ever  met  him." 

"  I  think  not.     What  is  his  name?" 

"  Well,  he  used  to  bear  my  name,  and  everybody 
knew  him  as  Harry  le  Breton ;  but  he  had  no  right  to 
it,  because  he  was  no  relation  of  mine,  and  so  he  gave 
it  up  and  took  his  own." 

"  Oh !"  Angela  felt  profoundly  uninterested  in  Mr. 
Harrj'  le  Breton. 

"  Yes.  And  now  you  never  will  meet  him.  For  he 
is  gone."  Lord  Jocelyn  uttered  these  words  in  so  sep- 
ulchral a  tone  that  Angela  gave  them  greater  signifi- 
cance than  they  deserved. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said. 

"No,  Miss  Messenger,  he  is  not  dead.     He  i?  only 


233  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

dead  to  society.     He  has  gone  out  of  the  world ;  he  has 
returned  to — in  fact,  liis  native  rank  in  life." 

Angela  reddened.      What  could  he  mean? 

"  You  interest  me.  Lord  Jocelyn  ?  Do  you  say  that 
your  ward  has  voluntaril}-  given  up  society,  and — and 
— everything?"  She  thought  of  herself  for  the  moment, 
and  also,  but  vaguely,  of  Harry  Goslett.  For  although 
she  knew  that  tliis  young  man  had  refused  some  kind 
of  offer  which  included  idleness,  she  had  never  con- 
nected him  in  her  mind  quite  with  her  own  rank  and 
station.  How  could  she?  He  was  only  a  cabinet- 
maker, whose  resemblance  to  a  gentleman  she  had 
learned  to  accept  without  any  further  wonder. 

"  He  gave  up  everything ;  he  laughed  over  it — he  took 
a  header  into  the  mob,  just  as  if  he  was  going  to  enjoy 
the  plunge.  But  did  you  not  hear  of  it?  Everybody 
talked  about  it — the  story  got  into  the  society  journals, 
and  people  blamed  me  for  telling  him  the  truth." 

"  I  have  not  been  in  London  much  this  year,  there- 
fore I  heard  nothing,"  said  Angela.  Just  then  the  din- 
ner came  to  an  end. 

"  Will  5'ou  tell  me  more  about  your  ward.  Lord  Joce- 
lyn?" she  asked  as  she  left  him.  His  words  had  raised 
in  her  mind  a  vague  and  uncertain  anxiety. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  came  to  her  side.  The  room  by 
this  time  was  all  full,  and  Angela  was  surrounded.  But 
she  made  room  for  Lord  Jocelyn,  and  presently  the 
others  dropped  away  and  they  could  talk.  A  young 
lady  began,  too,  a  long  and  very  brilliant  piece  of  music, 
under  cover  of  which  eveiybody  could  talk. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  hear  my  trouble  about 
Harry?"  he  asked.  "You  look  a  very  sympathetic 
3^oung  lady,  and  perhaps  you  will  feel  for  me.  You  see 
I  brought  him  up  in  ignorance  of  his  father,  whom  he 
alwaj'S  imagined  to  be  a  gentleman,  whereas  he  was 
onl}"  a  sergeant  in  a  Line  regiment.  What  is  it,  Miss 
Messenger?" 

For  she  became  suddenly  white  in  the  cheek.  Could 
there  be  two  Harrys,  sons  of  sergeants,  who  had  taken 
this  downward  plunge?  More  wonderful  than  a  pair 
of  Timothy  Clitheroes. 

"  It  is  nothing.  Lord  Jocelyn.  Pray  go  on.  Your 
adopted  son,  then " 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  233 

"  I  had  always  resolved  to  tell  him  all  about  his  peo- 
ple when  he  was  twenty-three.  Who  would  have 
thought,  however,  that  he  would  take  it  as  he  did?" 

"  You  forget  that  you  have  not  told  me  what  he  did 
do.     If  I  am  to  sympathize  you  must  tell  me  all." 

"  As  far  as  the  world  knows,  he  went  away  on  leave, 
so  to  speak.  Perhaps  it  is  only  on  leave,  after  all. 
But  it  is  a  long  leave,  and  it  looks  more  like  desertion." 

"You  are  mysterious,  Lord  Jocelyn." 

"Are  you  curious,  Miss  Messenger?" 

"  Say  I  am  sympathetic.  Tell  me  as  much  as  you 
can  about  your  ward." 

Lord  Jocelyn  looked  in  his  listener's  face.  Yes; 
there  was  sym])ath3^  in  it  and  interest,  both,  as  phre- 
nologists saj',  largely  develoijed. 

"  Then  I  will  explain  to  you.  Miss  Messenger,  how 
the  boy  did  this  most  remarkable  and  unexpected  thing." 
He  paused  a  moment,  considering.  "  Imagine  a  boy 
whom  I  had  taken  away  from  his  own  people  at  three, 
or  thereabouts,  so  that  he  should  never  know  anything 
of  them  at  all,  or  dream  about  them,  or  yearn,  you 
know,  or  anything  of  that  kind — an  orphan,  too,  with 
nothing  but  an  uncle  Bunker — it  is  inconceivable !" 

"  But  we  do  not  get  on,"  said  Angela,  in  great  impa- 
tience; yet  relieved  to  find  from  the  reference  to  her 
worthy  friend,  Bunker,  that  there  was  only  one  Harry. 
"  What  is  inconceivable?" 

"  I  am  con.'.ing  to  that.  I  gave  the  boy  the  best  edu- 
cation I  could  get  for  him ; .  he  was  so  eager  and  apt 
that  he  taught  himself  more  than  he  could  be  taught ; 
if  he  saw  anybody  doing  a  thing  well,  he  was  never 
satisfied  till  he  could  do  it  as  well  himself — not  better, 
mark  3'ou!  a  cad  might  have  wanted  to  do  it  better;  a 
gentleman  is  content  to  do  it  as  well  as  any — any  other 
gentleman.  There  is  hardly  anything  he  could  not  do; 
there  was  nobody  who  did  not  love  him ;  he  was  a  fa- 
vorite in  society ;  he  had  hosts  of  friends ;  nobod}'  cared 
who  was  his  father:  what  did  that  matter?  As  I  put 
it  to  him,  I  said,  'Look  at  So-and-So  and  So-and-So, 
who  are  their  fathers?  Who  cares?  AVho  asks^'  Yet 
when  he  learned  the  truth,  he  broke  away,  gave  up 
all,  and  went  back  to  his  own  relations — to  White- 
chapel  !" 


234  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Angela  blushed  again,  and  her  lip  trembled  a  little. 
Then  she  said  softl}^ : 

"  To  Whitechapel !  That  is  A^erj^  interesting  to  me. 
Because,  Lord  Jocelyn,  I  belong  to  Whitechapel  my- 
self." 

"  Do  you?"  She  might  as  well  have  said  that  she 
belonged  to  Seven  Dials.  In  fact,  much  better,  because 
in  his  young  days,  his  Corinthian  days.  Lord  Jocelyn 
had  often  repaired  to  Seven  Dials  to  see  noble  sports- 
men chez  Ben  Caunt,  and  rat-killing,  and  cock-fighting, 
and  many  other  beautiful  forms  of  sport.  "  Do  you 
really?  Do  you  belong  to  that  remarkable  part  of 
London?" 

"Certainly.     My  grandfather — did  you  know  him?" 

Lord  Jocelyn  shook  his  head. 

"  He  had  the  brewery,  j'ou  know.  Messenger,  Mars- 
den  &  Company,  in  Whitechapel.  He  was  born  there, 
and  alwa^'s  called  himself  a  AVhitechapel  man.  He 
seemed  to  be  proud  of  it,  so  that  in  common  filial  respect 
I,  too,  should  be  proud  of  it.  I  am,  in  fact,  a  White- 
chapel granddaughter." 

"  But  that  does  not  seem  to  help  my  unlucky 
Harry." 

"It  gives  one  a  little  more  S5'mpathy,  perhaps,"  she 
said.  "  And  that  is,  you  know,  so  very  useful  a  posses- 
sion." 

"  Yes,"  but  he  did  not  seem  to  recognize  its  usefulness 
as  regards  his  ward.  "  Well,  he  went  to  Whitechapel 
with  a  light  heart.  He  would  look  round  him,  make 
the  acquaintance  of  his  own  people,  then  he  would  come 
back  again,  and  we  would  go  on  just  as  usual.  At 
least  he  did  not  exactly  say  this,  but  I  understood  him 
so.  Because  it  seemed  impossible  that  a  man  who  had 
once  lived  in  societj",  among  ourselves,  and  formed  one 
of  us,  could  ever  dream  of  living  down  there."  An- 
gela laughed.  From  her  superior  knowledge  of  "  down 
there,"  she  laughed. 

"  He  went  away  and  I  was  left  without  him,  for  the 
first  time  for  twenty  years.  It  was  pretty  dull.  He 
said  he  would  give  the  thing  a  trial ;  he  wrote  to  me 
that  he  was  trying  it;  that  it  was  not  so  bad  as  it 
seemed,  and  yet  he  talked  as  if  the  experiment  would 
be  a  short  one.     I  left  him  there.     I  went  away  for  a 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  2m 

cniise  in  the  Mediterranean ;  when  I  came  home  he  re- 
turned to  me." 

"He  did  return,  then?" 

"  Yes,  he  came  back  one  evening,  a  good  deal  changed, 
1  should  not  have  thought  it  possible  for  a  boy  to  chani^e 
so  much  in  so  short  a  time.  He  wasn't  ill-fed;  he 
hadn't  suffered  any  privation,  apparently;  but  he  was 
changed :  he  was  more  thoughtful ;  his  smile  and  his 
laugh  were  not  so  ready.     Poor  boy !" 

Lord  Jocelyn  sighed  heavily.  Angela's  sympathy 
grew  deeper,  for  he  evidently  loved  the  "boy." 

"What  had  he  done,  tlien?" 

"  He  came  to  say  farewell  to  me ;  ho  thanked  me,  for 
you  know  what  a  good  honest  lad  would  say ;  and  he 
told  me  that  he  had  an  offer  made  to  him  of  an  unex- 
pected nature  which  ho  had  determined  to  accept.  You 
see,  he  is  a  clever  fellow  with  his  fingers;  he  can  play 
and  paint  and  carve,  and  do  all  sorts  of  things.  And 
among  his  various  arts  and  accomplishments  he  knows 
how  to  turn  a  lathe,  and  so  he  has  become  a  joiner  or 
a  cabinet-maker,  and  he  told  me  that  he  has  got  an  ap- 
pointment in  some  great  factor}'  or  works  or  something, 
as  a  cabinet-maker  in  ordinary." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Harry  Goslett." 

"Goslett,  Goslett  !"  Here  she  blushed  again,  and 
once  more  made  play  with  the  fan.  "  Has  he  got  a  re- 
lation, a  certain  Mr.  Bunker?" 

"Why — yes — I  told  you,  an  uncle  Bunker." 

"  Then  I  remember  the  name.  And,  Lord  Joceh'n, 
I  hope  you  will  be  grateful  to  me,  because  I  have  been 
the  humble  means  of  procuring  him  this  distinguished 
post.  Mr.  Bunker,  in  fact,  was,  or  conceived  that  he 
had  been,  useful  to  my  grandfather,  and  was  said  to  be 
disapi^ointed  at  getting  nothing  by  the  will.  There- 
fore I  endeavored  to  make  some  return  by  taking  his 
nephew  into  the  House.     That  is  all." 

"  And  a  great  deal  more  than  enough,  because,  Miss 
Messenger,  you  have  all  out  of  your  kindness  done  a 
great  mischief,  for  if  you  had  not  employed  him  I  am 
quite  certain  no  one  else  woidd.  Then  he  would  have 
to  come  back  to  me.  Send  him  away.  Do  send  him 
away.     Do  send  him  away,  Miss  Messenger.     There 


236  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

are  lots  of  cabinet-makers  to  be  had.  Then  he  will 
come  back  to  societ}^,  and  I  will  present  him  to  you, 
and  he  shall  thank  you." 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"People  are  never  sent  away  from  the  brewery  so 
long  as  they  behave  properly.  But  it  is  strange  in- 
deed, that  your  ward  should  voluntarily  surrender  all 
the  advantages  of  life  and  social  position  for  the  hard 
work  and  poor  pay  of  an  artisan.  Was  it — was  it  af- 
fection for  his  cousins?"  She  blushed  deeply  as  she 
put  this  question. 

"  Strange,  indeed.  When  he  came  to  me  the  other 
night,  he  told  me  a  long  story  about  men  being  all  alike 
in  every  rank  of  life.  I  have  noticed  much  the  same 
thing  in  the  army ;  of  course  he  did  not  have  the  impu- 
dence to  say  that  women  are  all  alike ;  and  he  talked  a 
quantity  of  prodigious  nonsense  about  living  among  his 
own  people.  Presently,  however,  I  got  out  of  him  the 
real  truth." 

"  What  was  that?" 

"  He  confessed  that  he  was  in  love." 

"With  a  young  lady  of  Whitechapel?  This  does 
great  credit  to  the  excellent  education  you  gave  him, 
Lord  Jocelyn."  She  blushed  for  the  fourth  or  fifth 
time,  and  he  wondered  why,  and  she  held  her  fan  be- 
fore her  face.  "But,  perhaps,"  she  added,  "you  are 
wrong,  and  women  of  all  ranks,  like  men,  are  the 
same. " 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  this,  Miss 
Messenger.  Now  j'ou  will  despise  him.  Yet  he  had 
the  impudence  to  say  that  she  was  a  lady — positively  a 
lady — this  Whitechapel  dressmaker." 

"  A  dressmaker ! — oh  !"  She  threw  into  her  voice  a 
little  of  that  icy  coldness  with  which  ladies  are  expected 
to  receive  this  kind  of  announcement. 

"  Ah !  now  you  care  no  more  about  him.  I  might 
have  known  that  j^our  sympathy  would  cease  directly 
you  heard  all.  He  went  into  raptures  over  this  young 
milliner.  She  is  beautiful  as  the  day ;  she  is  graceful, 
accomplished,  well-bred,  well-mannered,  a  queen " 

"No  doubt,"  said  Angela,  still  frozen.  "But  really, 
Lord  Jocelyn,  as  it  is  Mr.  Goslett,  the  cabinet-maker, 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  237 

and  uot  you,  who  is  in  love  with  this  paragon,  we  may- 
be spared  her  praises." 

"  And,  which  is  more  remarkable  still,  she  won't  have 
anything  to  say  to  him." 

"  That  is  indeed  remarkable.  But  perhaps  as  she  is 
the  Queen  of  Dressmakers,  she  is  looking  for  the  King 
of  Cabinet- Makers." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Lord  Joceljni;  "I  think  the  music 
is  coming  to  an  end.  However,  Miss  Messenger,  one 
favor." 

"A  dozen,  Lord  Jocehm,  if  I  can  grant  them." 

"  He  refuses  to  take  any  help  from  me ;  he  lives  on 
work  paid  for  at  the  rate  of  tenpence  an  hour.  If  you 
will  not  send  away — then — oh,  then " 

"Quick,  Lord  Jocehm,  what  is  it?" 

"  Tax  the  resources  of  the  brewerj-.  Puton  the  odd 
twopence.  It  is  the  gift  of  the  Samaritan — make  it  a 
BhilliLg  an  hour." 

"  I  will,  Lord  Jocelyn — hush !  The  music  is  just 
over,  and  I  hope  that  the  dressmaker  will  relent,  and 
there  will  be  a  wedding  in  Stepney  Church,  and  that 
they  will  be  happy  ever  after.  O  brave  and  loyal 
lover  I  He  gives  up  all,  all" — she  looked  round  the 
room,  the  room  filled  with  guests,  and  her  great  eyes 
became  limpid,  and  her  voice  fell  to  a  murmur — "  for 
love,  for  love.  Do  you  think.  Lord  Jocelyn,  that  the 
dressmaker  will  continue  to  be  obdurate?  But  perhaps 
S'le  does  not  know,  or  cannot  suspect,  what  he  has 
thrown  away — for  her  sake — happy  dressmaker !" 

'I  think,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn  afterward,  "that  if 
Harry  had  seen  Miss  Messenger  before  he  saw  his  dress- 
maker we  shouldn't  have  heard  so  much  about  the  beau- 
tiful life  of  a  working-man.  Why  the  devil  couldn't  I 
wait?  This  girl  is  a  Helen  of  Troy,  and  Harry  should 
have  written  his  name  Paris  and  carried  her  off,  by 
gad !  before  Men  elans  or  any  other  fellow  got  hold  of 
her.  What  a  woman !  What  a  match  it  would  have 
been !" 


238  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

AN   INVITATION. 

Very  shortly  after  the  fatal  discovery  made  by  the 
professor,  Lord  Davenant  received  the  outside  recogni- 
tion, so  to  speak,  of  his  rank.  It  is  true  that  no  one 
witiiiii  a  mile  of  Stepne}'  Green — that  is,  anywhere  be- 
tween Aldgate  Pump  and  Bow  Church — would  have 
had  the  hardihood  to  express  a  doubt  on  the  validity  of 
a  claim  which  conferred  a  lustre  upon  the  neighbor- 
hood; yet  even  Lord  Davenant,  not  remarkable  for 
quickness  of  perception,  was  sharp  enough  to  know 
that  recognition  at  Stepney  is  not  altogether  the  same 
thing  as  recognition  at  W  estminster .  He  was  now  once 
more  tolerably  comfortable  in  his  mind.  The  agonies 
of  composition  were  over,  thanks  to  his  young  friend's 
assistance;  the  labor  of  transcription  was  finished; 
he  felt,  in  looking  at  the  bundle  of  papers,  all  the  dig- 
nity of  successful  authorship;  the  case,  in  fact,  was 
now  complete  and  ready  for  presentation  to  the  Queen, 
or  to  any  one.  Lord  Chancellor,  Prime  Minister,  Lord 
Chamberlain,  or  American  Minister,  who  would  under- 
take and  faithfully  promise  to  lay  it  before  Her  Maj- 
esty. For  his  own  part,  brought  up  in  the  belief  that 
the  British  Lion  habitually  puts  his  heroic  tail  between 
his  legs  when  the  name  of  America  is  mentioned,  he 
thought  that  the  Minister  of  the  States  was  the  proper 
person  to  present  his  case.  Further,  the  days  of  fatness 
were  come  again.  Clara  Martha,  in  some  secret  way 
only  known  to  herself,  was  again  in  command  of  mon- 
ey ;  once  more  bacon  and  tea,  and  bread  and  butter,  if 
not  coffee,  cream,  and  buckwheat  cakes,  with  maple 
syrup  and  hot  compone — delicacies  of  his  native  land — 
w^ere  spread  upon  the  board  at  eight  in  the  morning ; 
and  again  the  succulent  steak  of  Stepne}^,  j'ielding  to 
none,  not  even  to  him  of  Fleet  Street,  appeared  at  stroke 
of  one ;  and  the  noble  lord  could  put  up  his  feet  and  rest 
the  long  and  peaceful  morning  through,  unreproached 
by  his  consort.  Therefore  he  felt  no  desire  for  any 
change,  but  would  have  been  quite  content  to  go  on  for 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  239 

ever  enjoying  his  title  among  this  simple  folk,  and  care- 
less about  the  splendors  of  his  rank.  How  Clara  Mar- 
tha got  the  money  he  did  not  inquire.  We,  who  know, 
may  express  our  fears  that  here  was  another  glaring 
violation  of  political  economy,  and  that  the  weekly 
honorarium  received  every  Saturday  by  Lady  Davenant 
was  by  no  means  adequately  accounted  for  by  her 
weekly  work.  Still  her  style  was  very  fine,  and  there 
were  no  more  delicate  workers  in  the  association  than 
the  little  peeress  with  the  narrow  shoulders  and  the 
bright  eyes. 

Not  one  word,  mark  you,  spoken  of  Saturday  Dave- 
nant— that  "  Roag  in  Grane  "  and  the  professor  as  re- 
spectful as  if  his  lordshii^  had  sat  through  thirty  j'ears 
of  deliberation  in  the  Upper  House,  and  Mr.  Goslett 
humbly  deferential  to  her  ladj-ship,  and  in  secret  con- 
fidential and  familiar,  even  rollicking,  with  ni}'  lord, 
and  Miss  Kennedy  respectfully  thoughtful  for  their 
welfare. 

This  serenity  was  troubled  and  dissipated  by  the  arri- 
val of  a  letter  addressed  to  Lady  Davenant. 

She  received  it — a  simple  letter  on  ordinary  note- 
paper — with  surprise,  and  opened  it  with  some  suspi- 
cion. Her  experience  of  letters  was  not  of  late  happy, 
inasmuch  as  her  recent  correspondence  had  been  chietiy 
with  American  friends,  who  reminded  her  how  they 
had  all  along  t(jld  her  that  it  was  no  good  expecting 
that  the  Davenant  claim  would  be  listened  to,  and  now 
she  saw  for  herself,  and  had  better  come  home  again 
and  live  among  the  plain  folk  of  Canaan,  and  praise 
the  Lord  for  making  her  husband  an  American  citizen ; 
with  much  more  to  the  same  effect,  and  cruel  words 
from  nephew  Nathaniel,  who  had  no  ambition,  and 
would  have  sold  his  heirship  to  the  coronet  for  a  few 
dollars. 

She  looked  first  at  the  signature,  and  turned  pale, 
for  it  was  from  the  mj'sterious  young  lady,  almost  di- 
vine in  the  eyes  of  Stepney,  because  she  was  so  rich. 
Miss  Messenger. 

"  Lord  !"  cried  Mrs.  Bormalack.    "  Do  read  it  quick." 

Her  ladyship  read  it  through  ver}'  slowl}*,  much  too 
slowlj^  for  her  landlady's  impatience. 

Her  pale  cheeks  flushed  with  pride  and  joy  when  she 


240  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

comprehended  what  the  letter  meant ;  she  drew  herself 
up  straight,  and  her  shoulders  became  so  sloping  that 
the  uneasy  feeling  about  her  clothes,  already  alluded  to, 
once  more  passed  through  Mrs.  Bormalack's  sympa- 
thetic mind. 

"  It  will  be  a  change,  indeed,  for  us,"  she  murmured, 
looking  at  her  husband. 

"  Change?"  cried  the  landlady. 

"What  change?"  asked  his  lordship.  "  Clara  Mar- 
tha, I  do  not  want  any  change ;  I  am  comfortable  here. 
I  am  treated  with  respect,  the  place  is  quiet ;  I  do  not 
want  to  change." 

He  was  a  heavy  man  and  lethargic — change  meant 
some  kind  of  physical  activity — he  disliked  movement. 

His  wife  tossed  her  head  with  impatience. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  he  would  rather  sit  in  his  armchair 
than  walk  even  across  the  green  to  get  his  coronet. 
Shame  upon  him !     Oh !  Carpenter !  Shh !" 

His  lordship  quailed  and  said  no  more.  That  allu- 
sion to  his  father's  trade  was  not  intended  as  a  sneer; 
the  slothfulness  of  his  parent  it  was  which  the  lady 
hurled  at  his  lordship's  head.  No  one  could  tell,  no 
living  writer  is  able  to  depict  faithfully,  the  difficulties 
encountered  and  overcome  by  this  resolute  woman  in 
urging  her  husband  to  action;  how  she  had  first  to  per- 
suade him  to  declare  that  he  was  the  heir  to  the  extinct 
title ;  how  she  had  next  to  drag  him  away  from  Canaan 
City;  how  she  had  to  bear  with  his  moanings,  lamen- 
tations, and  terrors,  when  he  found  himself  actually  on 
board  the  steamer,  and  saw  the  land  siowly  disappear- 
ing, while  the  great  ship  rolled  beneath  his  unaccus- 
tomed feet,  and  consequences  which  he  had  not  foreseen 
began  to  follow.  These  were  things  of  the  past,  but  it 
had  been  hard  to  get  him  away  even  from  Wellclose 
Square,  which  he  found  comfortable,  making  allowance 
for  the  disrespectful  Dane;  and  now — but  it  must  and 
should  be  done. 

"His  lordship,"  said  the  little  vroman,  thinking  she 
had  perhaps  said  too  much,  "  is  one  of  tliem  who  take 
root  wherever  you  set  them  down.  Ho  takes  after  his 
grandfather,  the  Honorable  Timothy  Clithcroe.  Set 
himself  down  in  Canaan  City,  and  took  root  at  once, 
never  wanted  to  go  away.     And  the  Davenants,  I  am 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  241 

told,  never  left  the  village  from  the  day  they  built  their 
castle  there  till  the  last  lord  died  there.  In  other  peo- 
ple, Mrs.  Bormalack,  it  might  be  called  sloth,  but  in  his 
lordship's  case  we  can  only  say  that  he  is  quick  to  take 
root.  That  is  all,  ma'am.  And  when  we  move  him, 
it  is  like  tearing  him  up  by  the  roots." 

"  It  is, "  said  his  lordship,  clinging  to  the  arms  of  the 
chair;  "it  is." 

The  letter  was  as  follows,  and  Lady  Davenant  read 
it  aloud : 

"Dear  Lady  Davenant:  I  have  quite  recently 
learned  that  j'ou  and  Lord  Davenant  are  staying  at  a 
house  on  Stepney  Green  which  happens  to  be  my  prop- 
ertj.  Otherwise,  perhaps,  I  might  have  remained  in 
ignorance  of  this  most  interesting  circumstance.  I  have 
also  learned  that  you  have  crossed  the  Atlantic  for  the 
purpose  of  presenting  a  claim  to  the  Davenant  title, 
which  was  long  supposed  to  be  extinct,  and  I  hasten  to 
convey  to  you  my  most  sincere  wishes  for  j^our  success. 

"  I  am  at  this  moment  precluded  from  doing  myself 
the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  you,  for  reasons  with  which 
I  will  not  trouble  you.  I  hope,  however,  to  be  allowed 
to  do  so  before  very  long.  Meantime,  I  take  the  liber- 
ty of  offering  3'ou  the  hospitality  of  my  own  house  in 
Portman  Square,  if  you  will  honor  me  by  accepting  it, 
as  your  place  of  residence  during  your  stay  in  London. 
You  will  perhaps  find  Portman  Scjuare  a  central  place, 
and  more  convenient  for  you  than  Stepney  Green, 
which,  though  it  possesses  undoubted  advantages  in 
healthful  air  and  freedom  from  London  fog,  is  3'et  not 
altogether  a  desirable  place  of  residence  for  a  lady  of 
your  rank. 

"  I  am  aware  that  in  addressing  3'ou  without  the 
ceremony  of  an  introduction,  I  am  taking  what  may 
seem  to  j^ou  a  liberty.  I  may  be  pardoned  on  the 
ground  that  I  feel  so  deep  an  interest  in  your  romantic 
story,  a.nd  so  much  sympathy  with  your  courage  in 
crossing  the  ocean  to  prosecute  your  claim.  Such 
claims  as  these  are,  j'ou  know,  jealously  regarded  and 
sifted  with  the  greatest  care,  so  that  there  maj'  be  dif- 
ficulty in  establishing  a  perfectly  made-cut  case,  and 
one  which  shall  satisfy  the  House  of  Lords  as  impreg- 
16 


a43  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

nable  to  any  attack.  There  is,  however,  such  a  thing 
as  a  moral  certainty,  and  I  am  well  assured  that  Lord 
Davenant  would  not  have  left  his  native  country  had 
he  not  been  convinced  in  his  own  mind  that  his  cause 
is  a  just  one,  and  that  his  claim  is  a  duty  owed  to  his 
illustrious  ancestors.  So  that,  whether  he  wins  or 
loses,  whether  he  succeeds  or  fails,  he  must  in  either 
case  command  our  respect  and  our  s^^mpath}'.  Under 
these  circumstances  I  trust  that  I  may  be  forgiven, 
and  that  your  ladj'ship  will  honor  my  poor  house  with 
your  presence.  I  will  send,  always  provided  that  jou. 
accept,  my  carriage  for  you  on  any  day  that  you  may 
appoint.  Your  reply  may  be  directed  here,  because  all 
letters  are  forwarded  to  me,  though  I  am  not,  at  the 
present  moment,  residing  at  my  own  town-house. 

"  Believe  me  to  remain,  dear  Lady  Davenant,  yours 
very  faithfully, 

"Angela  Marsden  Messenger." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  letter !"  cried  Mrs.  Bormalack, 
"and  to  think  of  Miss  Messenger  knowing  that  this 
house  is  one  of  hers !  Why,  she's  got  hundreds.  Now, 
I  wonder  who  could  have  told  her  that  3'ou  were  here?" 

"No  doubt,"  said  her  lad3'ship,  "she  saw  it  in  the 
papers." 

"  What  a  providence  that  you  came  here !  If  you 
had  stayed  at  Wellclose  Square,  which  is  a  low  place 
and  only  fit  for  foreigners,  she  never  would  have  heard 
about  you.  Well,  it  will  be  a  sad  blow  losing  your 
ladyship,  but  of  course  you  must  go.  You  can't  refuse 
such  a  noble  offer;  and  though  I've  done  my  best,  I'm 
sure,  to  make  his  lordship  comfortable,  yet  I  know  that 
the  dinner  hasn't  always  been  such  as  I  could  wish, 
though  as  good  as  the  money  would  run  to.  And  we 
can't  hope  to  rival  Miss  Messenger,  of  course,  in  house- 
keeping, though  I  should  like  to  hear  what  she  gives 
for  dinner." 

"You  shall,  Mrs.  Bormalack,"  said  her  ladyship;  "I 
will  send  j'ou  w^ord  myself,  and  I  am  sure  we  are  very 
grateful  to  you  for  all  your  kindness,  and  especiall}^  at 
times  when  my  husband's  nephew,  Nathaniel,  who  is 
not  the  whole-souled  and  high-toned  man  that  the  heir 
to  a  peerage  ought  to  be " 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  243 

"Don't  sjDeak  of  it,"  interrupted  the  good  landlady, 
"don't  speak  of  it,  your  ladyship.  It  will  always  be 
my  pride  to  remember  that  yout  ladyship  thought  I  did 
my  little  best.  But,  then,  with  mutton  at  eleven-pence 
ha'penny!" 

The  name  of  Portman  Square  suggested  nothing  at 
all  to  the  illustrious  pair.  It  might  just  as  well  have 
been  Wellclose  Square.  But  here  was  an  outside  rec- 
ognition of  them ;  and  from  a  very  rich  young  lady, 
who  perhaps  was  herself  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
members  of  the  Upper  House. 

"It  is  a  proper  letter,"  said  Lady  Davenant  criti- 
call}";  "  a  letter  written  in  a  becoming  spirit.  There's 
many  things  to  admire  in  England,  but  the  best  thing 
is  the  respect  to  rank.  Now,  in  our  own  city  did  they 
respect  his  lordship  for  his  family?  Not  a  mite.  The 
boys  drew  pictures  of  him  on  the  walls  with  a  crown 
on  his  head  and  a  sword  in  his  hand." 

"Must  we  go,  Clara  Martha?"  his  lordship  asked  in 
a  tremulous  voice. 

"  Yes,  we  must  go ;  we  must  show  people  that  we  are 
ready  to  assume  the  dignity  of  the  position.  As  for 
my  husband,  Mrs.  Bormalack" — she  looked  at  him  side- 
wa3's  while  slie  addressed  the  landlady — "  there  are  times 
when  I  feel  that  nothing  but  noble  blood  confers  real 
dignity" — his  lordship  coughed — "real  dignity  and  a 
determination  to  have  your  rights,  and  behavior  ac- 
cording." 

Lord  Davenant  straightened  his  back  and  held  up  his 
head.  But  when  his  wife  left  him  he  drooped  it  again 
and  looked  sad. 

Lady  Davenant  took  the  letter  with  her  to  show  Miss 
Kennedy. 

"I  shall  never  forget  old  friends,  my  dear,"  she  said 
kindly,  when  Angela  had  read  it  through,  "never;  and 
your  kindness  in  my  distress  I  could  not  forget  if  I 
tried."  The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke.  "  We 
aro  standing  now  on  the  very  tlireshold  of  Greatness; 
this  is  the  first  step  to  Recognition ;  a  short  time  more 
and  my  husband  will  be  in  his  right  place  among  the 
British  peers.  As  for  myself,  I  don't  seem  to  mind 
any.  Miss  Kenned}'.  It's  for  h^'m  that  I  mind.  Once 
in  his  ov.m  place,  he  will  show  the  world  what  he  is 


244  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

capable  of.  You  only  think  of  him  as  a  sleepy  old  man, 
who  likes  to  put  up  his  feet  and  shut  his  eyes.  So  he 
is — so  he  is.  But  wait  till  he  gets  his  own.  Then  you 
will  see.  As  for  eloquence,  now,  I  remember  one 
Fourth  of  July — but  of  course  we  were  Americans 
then." 

"  Indeed,  Lady  Davenant,  we  shall  all  be  rejoiced  if 
you  succeed.  But  do  not  forget  Miss  Messenger's  warn- 
ing. There  is  a  moral  success,  and  there  is  a  legal  suc- 
cess. You  may  have  to  be  contented  with  the  former. 
But  that  should  be  enough  for  you,  and  you  would  then 
return  to  your  own  people  with  triumph." 

"  Aurelia  Tucker,"  said  her  ladyship,  smiling  gently, 
"will  wish  she  hadn't  taken  up  the  prophesyin' line. 
I  shall  forgive  her,  though  envy  is  indeed  a  hateful 
passion.  However,  we  cannot  iill  have  illustrious  an- 
cestors, though,  since  our  own  elevation,  there's  not  a 
man,  woman,  or  child  in  Canaan  City,  except  the 
Dutchman,  who  hasn't  connected  himself  with  an  Eng- 
lish family,  and  the  demand  for  Red  Books  and  books 
of  the  county  families  is  more  than  you  could  believe, 
and  they  do  say  that  many  a  British  peer  will  have  to 
tremble  for  his  title." 

"Come,"  said  Angela,  interrupting  these  interesting 
facts,  "  come,  'Lady  Davenant.  "  I  knew  beforehand  of 
this  letter,  and  Miss  Messenger  has  given  me  work  in 
anticipation  of  your  visit." 

She  led  the  little  lady  to  the  showroom,  and  here, 
laid  on  chairs,  were  marvels.  For  there  were  dresses 
in  silk  and  in  velvet :  dresses  of  best  silk,  moire  antique, 
brocaded  silk,  silk  that  would  stand  upright  of  itself, 
without  the  aid  of  a  chair-back,  and  velvet  of  the  rich- 
est, the  blackest,  and  the  most  costly.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  whatever  as  to  the  person  for  whom  these 
dresses  had  been  designed,  because  nobody  else  had 
such  narrow  and  such  sloping  shoulders.  Never  in  her 
dreams  had  her  ladyship  thought  it  possible  that  she 
should  wear  such  dresses. 

"  They  are  a  present  from  Miss  Messenger,"  said  Miss 
Kennedy.  "  Now,  if  you  please,  we  will  go  into  the  tr}^- 
ing-on  room." 

Then  Lady  Davenant  discovered  that  these  dresses 
were  trimmed  with  lace,  also  of  the  most  beautiful  and 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  245 

delicate  kind.  She  had  sometimes  seen  lace  during  her 
professional  career,  but  she  never  possessed  any,  and 
the  sight  of  it  created  a  kind  of  yearning  in  her  heart 
to  have  it  on,  actually  on  her  sleeves  and  round  her 
neck. 

When  she  dressed  in  her  velvet  with  the  lace  trim- 
ming, she  looked  a  ver}^  stately  little  lady.  When  An- 
gela had  hung  about  her  neck  a  heav}-  gold  chain  with 
a  watch  and  seals ;  when  she  had  deftly  added  a  touch 
to  her  still  luxuriant  hair,  and  set  in  it  a  small  aigrette 
of  brilliants ;  when  she  had  put  on  her  a  pair  of  gloves 
and  given  her  a  large  and  beautifully  painted  fan,  there 
was  no  nobler-looking  lady  in  the  land,  for  all  she  was 
so  little. 

Then  Angela  courtesied  low  and  begged  her  ladyship 
to  examine  the  dress  in  the  glass.  Her  ladj'ship  sur- 
veyed herself  with  an  astonishment  and  delight  impos- 
sible to  be  repressed,  although  they  detracted  somewhat 
from  the  dignit}-  due  to  the  dress. 

"  O  Aurelia !"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  in  the  joy  of  her 
heart  she  could  have  wished  her  friend  to  share  her 
happiness. 

Then  Miss  Kennedy  explained  to  her  that  the  velvet 
and  magnificent  silk  dresses  were  for  the  evening  only, 
while  for  the  morning  there  were  other  black  silk 
dresses,  with  beautiful  fur  cloaks  and  things  for  car- 
riage exercise,  and  all  kinds  of  things  provided,  so  that 
she  might  make  a  becoming  appearance  in  Portman 
Square. 

"As  for  his  lordship,"  Miss  Kennedy  went  on,  "steps 
have  been  taken  to  provide  him  also  with  garments  due 
to  his  position.  And  I  think,  Lady  Davenant,  if  I  may 
venture  to  advise " 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  ladyship,  simply,  "just  tell  me, 
right  away,  what  am  I  to  do." 

"  Then  you  are  to  write  to  ]\Iiss  Messenger  and  tell 
her  that  you  will  be  ready  to-morrow  morning,  and 
say  any  kind  of  thing  that  occurs  to  your  kind  heart. 
And  then  you  will  have  undisturbed  possession  of  the 
big  house  in  Portman  Square,  with  all  its  servants, 
butler,  coachman,  footmen,  and  the  rest  of  them  at  your 
orders.  And  I  beg — that  is,  I  hope — that  you  will  make 
use  of  them.     Remember  that  a  nobleman's  servant  ex- 


246  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

pects  to  be  ordered,  not  asked.  Drive  every  day ;  go 
to  the  theatres  to  amuse  yourself — I  am  sure,  after  all 
this  time,  you  want  amusement." 

"We  had  lectures  at  Canaan  City,"  said  her  lady- 
ship.    "  Shall  we  go  to  lectures?"' 

"  N — no.  I  think  there  are  none.  But  j^ou  should 
go  to  concerts,  if  you  like  them,  and  to  picture  galler- 
ies. Be  seen  about  a  good  deal ;  make  people  talk  about 
you,  and  do  not  press  your  case  before  you  have  been 
talked  about." 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  persuade  Timothy — I  mean,  his 
lordship — to  go  about  with  me?" 

"You  will  have  the  carriage,  you  know;  and  if  he 
likes  he  can  sleep  at  the  theatre;  you  have  only  to  take 
a  private  box — but  be  seen  and  talked  about. " 

This  seemed  ver}'-  good  advice.  Lady  Davenant  lakl 
it  to  her  heart.  Then  she  took  off  her  magnificent  a'oI  • 
vet  and  put  on  the  humble  stuff  again,  with  a  sigh. 
Happily,  it  was  the  last  daj^  she  would  wear  it. 

On  returning  to  the  boarding-house,  she  found  her 
husband  in  great  agitation,  for  he  too  had  been  "try- 
ing on,"  and  he  had  been  told  peremptorily  that  the 
whole  of  the  existing  wardrobe  must  be  abolished,  and 
changed  for  a  new  one  which  had  been  provided  for 
him.  The  good  old  coat,  whose  sleeves  were  so  shin}^, 
whose  skirts  so  curly,  whose  cuff's  so  worn,  must  be 
abandoned;  the  other  things,  which  long  custom  had 
adapted  to  ever}"  projection  of  his  figure,  must  go  too; 
and,  in  place  of  them,  the  new  things  w^iich  he  had 
just  been  trying  on. 

"  There's  a  swallow-tail,  Clara  Martha,  for  evening 
wear.  I  shall  have  to  change  my  clothes,  they  tell  me, 
ever}'  evening;  and  frock-coats  to  button  down  the 
front  like  a  congressman  in  a  statue;  and — O  Clara 
Martha,  we  are  going  to  have  a  terrible  time !" 

"Courage,  my  lord,"  she  said.  "The  end  will  re- 
ward us.  Only  hold  up  your  head,  and  remember  that 
you  are  enjoying  the  title." 

The  evening  was  rather  sad,  though  the  grief  of  the 
noble  pair  at  leaving  their  friends  was  shared  by  none 
but  their  landlady,  who  really  was  attached  to  the  little 
l^ird-like  woman,  so  resolute  and  full  of  courage.  As 
for  the  rest,  they  behaved  as  members  of  a  happy  fam- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  247 

ily  are  expected  to  behave — that  is  to  say,  they  paid  no 
heed  whatever  to  the  approaching  departure  of  two  out 
of  their  number,  and  Josephus  leaned  his  head  against 
the  wall,  and  Daniel  Fagg  plunged  his  hands  into  his 
hair,  and  old  Mr.  Maliphant  sat  in  the  corner  with  his 
pipe  in  his  mouth  and  narrated  bits  of  stories  to  him- 
self, and  laughed. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LORD    DAVENANT'S   GREATNESS. 

Probably  no  greater  event  had  ever  happened  within 
the  memory  of  Stepne}^  Green  than  the  arrival  of  Miss 
Messenger's  carriage  to  take  away  the  illustrious  pair 
from  the  boarding-house.  Mrs.  Bormalack  felt,  vv^ith  a 
pang,  when  she  saw  the  pair  of  graj'^s,  with  the  coach- 
man and  footman  on  the  box,  actually  standing  before 
her  own  door,  for  all  to  see,  as  if  she  had  not  thor- 
oughly appreciated  the  honor  of  having  a  peer  and  his 
consort  residing  under  her  roof,  and  paying  every  week 
for  board  and  lodging  the  moderate  sum  of — but  she 
could  not  bear  to  put  it  into  words.  Now,  however, 
they  were  going.  • 

His  lordship,  in  his  new  frock-coat  tightly  buttoned, 
stood,  looking  constrained  and  stiff,  with  one  hand  on 
the  table  and  the  other  thrust  into  his  breast,  like  a  cer- 
tain well-known  statue  of  Washington.  His  wife  had 
instructed  him  to  assume  this  attitude.  With  him  were 
Daniel  Fagg,  the  professor,  and  Harry,  the  rest  of  the 
lioarders  being  engaged  in  their  several  occupations. 
Mrs.  Bormalack  was  putting  the  final  touches  to  Lady 
Davenant's  morning  toilet. 

"  If  I  was  a  lord, "  said  Daniel,  "  I  should  become  a 
great  patron  to  discoverers.  I  would  publish  their 
works  for  them." 

•'I  will,  Mr.  Fagg,  I  will,"  said  his  lordship;  "give 
me  time  to  look  around  and  see  how  the  dollars  come 
in.  Because,  gentlemen,  as  Clara  Martha — I  mean  her 
ladyship — is  not  ready  j'et,  there  is  time  for  me  to  ex- 
plain that  I  don't  quite  know  what  is  to  happen  next, 
nor  where  those  dollars  are  to  come  from,  unless  it  is 


248  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

from  the  Davenant  estates.  But  I  don't  think,  Mr. 
Fagg,  that  we  shall  forget  old  friends.  A  man  born  to 
a  peerage,  that  is  an  accident,  or  the  gift  of  Providence; 
but  to  be  a  Hebrew  scholar  comes  from  genius.  When 
a  man  has  been  a  school-teacher  for  near  upon  forty 
years  he  knows  what  genius  means — and  it's  skurse, 
even  in  Amer'ca." 

"Then,  my  lord,"  said  Daniel,  producing  his  note- 
book, "  I  may  put  your  lordship's  name  down  for 

how  many  copies?" 

"  Wal,  Mr.  Fagg,  I  don't  care  how  many  copies  you 
put  my  name  down  for,  provided  you  don't  ask  for  pay- 
ment until  the  way  is  clear.  I  don't  suppose  they  will 
play  it  so  low  on  a  man  as  to  give  him  his  peerage 
without  a  mite  of  income,  even  if  it  has  to  be  raised  by 
a  tax  on  something." 

"American  beef  will  have  to  be  taxed,"  said  Harry. 
"  Never  fear,  my  lord,  we  will  pull  you  through  some- 
how. As  Miss  Messenger  said,  'moral  certainty'  is  a 
fine  card  to  plaj^,  even  if  the  committee  of  the  House  of 
Lords  don't  recognize  the  connection." 

The  professor  looked  guilty,  thinking  of  that  "  Roag 
in  Grane,"  Saturda}^  Davenant,  wheelwright,  who  went 
to  the  American  colonies. 

Then  her  lad3'ship  appealed  complete  and  ready, 
dressed  in  her  black  silk  with  a  fur  cloak  and  a  mag- 
nificent muff  of  sable — stately,  gracious,  and  happy. 
After  her,  Mrs.  Bormalack,  awed. 

"I  am  ready,  my  lord,"  she  said,  standing  in  the 
doorway.  "  My  friends,  we  shall  not  forget  those  who 
were  hospitable  to  us,  and  kind  in  the  days  of  our  ad- 
versity. Mr.  Fagg,  j'ou  may  depend  upon  us.  You 
hav3  his  lordship's  permission  to  dedicate  your  book  to 
his  lordship.  We  sliall  sometimes  speak  of  your  dis- 
covery. The  world  of  fashionable  London  shall  hear 
of  your  circles." 

"Triangles,  my  lady,"  said  Daniel,  bowing. 

"I  beg  5^our  pardon,  Mr.  Fagg;  I  ought  to  have 
known,  and  the  triangle  goes  with  the  fife  and  the  drum 
in  all  the  militia  regiments.  Professor,  if  there  is  any 
place  in  Portman  Square  wdiere  an  entertainment  can 
be  held,  we  will  remember  3-ou.  Mr.  Goslett — ah,  Mr. 
Goslett,  we  shall  miss  you  very  much.    Often  and  often 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  249 

has  my  husband  said  that,  but  for  your  own  timely  aid, 
he  must  have  broken  down.  What  can  we  now  do  for 
you,  Mr.  Goslett?" 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  generous  than  this 
dispensing  of  patronage. 

"Nothing,"  said  Harry.  "But  I  thank  you  all  the 
same." 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Messenger  wants  a  cabinet  made?" 

"No,  no,"  he  cried  hastily.  "I  don't  want  to  make 
cabinets  for  Miss  Messenger.  I  mend  the  office  stools 
for  the  brewery,  and  I  work — for — for  Miss  Kennedy," 
he  added,  with  a  blush. 

Lady  Davenant  nodded  her  head  and  laughed.  So 
hap})y  was  she  that  she  could  even  show  an  interest  in 
something  outside  the  case. 

"A  handsome  couple,"  she  said  simply.  "Yes,  my 
dear,  go  on  working  for  Miss  Kennedy,  because  she  is 
worth  it — and  now,  my  lord.  Gentlemen,  I  wish  you 
farewell." 

She  made  the  most  statel}',  the  most  dignified  obei- 
sance, and  turned  to  leave  them ;  but  Harry  sprang  to 
the  front  and  offered  his  arm. 

"Permit  me.  Lady  Davenant." 

It  was  extraordinary  enough  for  the  coachman  to  be 
ordered  to  Stepney  Gi'een  to  take  up  a  lord — it  w^as 
more  extraordinary  to  see  that  lord's  noble  lady  falling 
on  the  neck  of  an  ordinary  female  in  a  black  stuff  gown 
and  an  apron — namely,  Mrs.  Bormalack;  and  still  more 
wonderful  to  see  that  noble  lady  led  to  the  carriage  by 
a  young  gentleman  who  seemed  to  belong  to  the  place. 

"  I  know  him,"  said  James,  the  footman,  presently. 

"  Who  is  he?" 

"  He's  Mr.  Le  Breton,  nephew  or  something  of  Lord 
Jocelyn.  I've  seen  him  about;  and  what  he's  doing 
on  Stepney  Green  the  Lord  only  knows." 

"James,"  said  the  coachman. 

"John,"  said  the  footman. 

"When  you  don't  understand  what  a  young  gentle- 
ntan  is  a-doin',  what  does  a  man  of  your  experience 
conclude?" 

"John,"  said  the  footman,  "3-ou  are  right  as  usual; 
but  I  didn't  see  her." 

There  was  a  little  crowd  outside,  and  it  was  a  proud 


250  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN. 

moment  for  Lady  Davenant  when  she  walked  through 
the  lane  (which  she  could  have  wished  a  mile  long) 
formed  by  the  spectators,  and  took  her  place  in  the  open 
carriage,  beneath  the  great  fur  rug.  His  lordship  fol- 
lowed with  a  look  of  sadness,  or  apprehension,  rather 
than  triumph.  The  door  was  slammed,  the  footman 
mounted  the  box,  and  the  carriage  drove  off — one  boy 
called  "  Hooray !"  and  jumped  on  the  curbstone.  To 
him  Lord  Davenant  took  off  his  hat.  Another  turned 
catherine-wheels  along  the  road,  and  Lord  Davenant 
took  off  his  hat  to  him,  too,  with  aristocratic  impartial- 
it}^  ;  till  the  coachman  flicked  at  him  with  his  whip, 
and  then  he  ran  behind  the  carriage  and  used  language 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

"Timothy,"  said  her  ladyship — "would  that  Aurelia 
Tucker  were  here  to  see !'" 

He  only  groaned  :  how  could  he  tell  what  sufferings 
in  the  shape  of  physical  activity  might  be  before  him? 
When  Avould  he  be  able  to  put  uj)  his  feet  again?  One 
little  disappointment  marred  the  complete  joy  of  the  de- 
parture :  it  was  strange  that  Miss  Kennedy,  who  had 
taken  so  m  uch  interest  in  the  business — who  had  herself 
tried  on  the  dresses — should  not  have  been  there  to  see. 
It  was  not  kind  of  her,  who  was  usually  so  ver}^  kind, 
to  be  absent  on  this  important  occasion.  They  arrived 
at  Portman  Square  a  little  before  one.  Miss  Messenger 
sent  them  her  compliments  by  her  own  maid,  and  hoped 
they  would  be  perfectly  comfortable  in  her  house,  which 
was  placed  entirely  at  their  disposal;  she  was  only 
sorry  that  absence  from  town  would  prevent  her  from 
personally  receiving  Lady  Davenant. 

The  spaciousness  of  the  rooms,  the  splendor  of  the 
furniture,  the  presence  of  many  servants,  awed  the  sim- 
ple little  American  woman.  She  followed  her  guide, 
wdio  offered  to  show  them  the  house  and  led  them  into 
all  the  rooms,  the  great  and  splendidly  furnished  draw- 
ing-room, the  dining-room,  the  morning-room,  and  the 
library,  without  saying  a  word.  Her  husband  walked 
after  her  in  the  deepest  dejection,  hanging  his  head  and 
dangling  his  hands,  in  forgetfulness  of  the  statuesque 
attitude.  He  saw  no  chance  whatever  for  a  place  of 
quiet  meditation. 

Presently  they  came  back  to  the  morning-room — it 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  351 

was  a  pleasant,  sunny  room ;  not  so  large  as  the  great 
dining-room,  nor  so  gaunt  in  its  furniture,  nor  was  it 
hung  with  immense  pictures  of  game  and  fruit,  but 
with  light  and  bright  water-colors. 

"  I  should  like,"  said  her  ladyship,  hesitating,  because 
she  was  a  little  afraid  that  her  dignity  demanded  that 
they  should  use  the  biggest  room  of  all — "  I  should  like, 
if  we  could,  to  sit  in  this  room  when  we  are  alone." 

"Certainl}^  my  lady." 

"  We  are  simple  people,"  she  went  on,  trying  to  make 
it  clear  why  they  liked  simplicity ;  "  and  accustomed  to 
a  plain  waj'  of  life — so  that  his  lordship  does  not  look 
for  the  splendor  that  belongs  to  his  position." 

"No,  my  lady." 

"  Therefore,  if  we  may  use  this  room  mostly,  and — 
and — keep  the  drawing-room  for  when  we  have  com- 
pany  "  She  looked  timidly  at  the  grave  young  wo- 
man who  was  to  be  her  maid. 

"Certainly,  my  lady." 

"  As  for  his  lordship,"  she  went  on,  "  I  beg  he  may  be 
undisturbed  in  the  morning  wdien  he  sits  in  the  library 
— he  is  much  occupied  in  the  morning." 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"I  think  I  noticed,"  said  Lord  Davenant,  a  little 
more  cheerfully,  "  as  we  walked  through  the  library,  a 
most  beautiful  chair."  He  cleared  his  throat,  but  said 
no  more. 

Tt  en  they  were  showm  to  their  own  rooms,  and  told 
that  luncheon  would  be  served  immediat^h^ 

"And I  hope,  Clara  Martha,"  said  his  lordship,  when 
they  were  alone,  "  that  luncheon  in  this  house  means 
something  solid  and  substantial — fried  oysters  now, 
with  a  beefsteak  and  tomatoes,  and  a  little  green  corn 
in  the  ear,  I  should  like." 

"  It  will  be  something,  my  dear,  worth 5"  of  our  rank. 
I  almost  regret  now  that  j'ou  are  a  teetotaler — wine, 
somehow,  seems  to  belong  to  a  title.  Do  3'ou  think  that 
you  could  break  your  vow  and  take  one  glass,  or  even 
two,  of  wine — just  to  show  that  you  are  equal  to  the 
position." 

"No,  Clara  Martha,"  her  husband  replied  with  decis- 
ion. "  No — I  will  not  break  the  pledge — not  even  for 
a  glass  of  old  Bourbon." 


253  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

There  were  no  fried  oysters  at  that  day's  luncheon, 
nor  any  green  corn  in  the  ear;  but  it  was  the  best 
square  meal  that  his  lordship  had  ever  sat  down  to  in 
his  life.  Yet  it  was  marred  by  the  presence  of  an  im- 
posing footman,  who  seemed  to  be  watching  to  see  how 
much  an  American  could  eat.  This  caused  his  lordship 
to  drop  knives  and  upset  glasses,  and  went  very  near 
to  mar  the  enjoyment  of  the  meal. 

After  the  luncheon  he  bethought  him  of  the  chair  in 
the  li])rary,  and  retired  there.  It  was  indeed  a  most 
beautiful  chair — low  in  the  seat,  broad  and  deep,  not 
too  soft — and  there  was  a  footstool. 

His  lordship  sat  down  in  this  chair,  beside  a  large 
and  cheerful  fire,  put  up  his  feet,  and  surveyed  the 
room.  Books  were  ranged  round  all  the  walls — books 
from  floor  to  ceiling.  There  was  a  large  table  with 
many  drawers,  covered  with  papers,  magazines,  and 
reviews,  and  provided  with  ink  and  pens.  The  door 
was  shut,  and  there  was  no  sound  save  of  a  passing 
carriage  in  the  square. 

"  This,"  said  his  lordship  "  seems  better  than  Stepney 
Green;   I  wish  Nathaniel  \vere  here  to  see  me." 

With  these  words  upon  his  lips,  he  fell  into  a  deep 
slumber. 

At  half-past  three  his  wife  came  to  wake  him  up. 
She  had  ordered  the  carriage  and  was  ready  and  eager 
for  another  drive  along  those  wonderful  streets  which 
she  had  seen  for  the  first  time.  She  roused  him  with 
great  difficulty,  and  persuaded  him,  not  without  words 
of  refusal,  to  come  with  her.  Of  course  she  was  per- 
fectly wide  awake. 

"This,"  she  cried,  once  more  in  the  carriage,  "this 
is  London,  indeed.  Oh!  to  think  we  have  wasted 
months  at  Stepnej^,  thinking  that  was  town.  Timo- 
thy, we  must  wake  up ;  we  have  a  great  deal  to  see  and 
to  learn.  Look  at  the  shops,  look  at  the  carriages. 
Do  tell !  It's  better  than  Boston  city.  Now  that  we 
have  got  the  carriage  we  will  go  out  every  day  and  see 
something;  I've  told  them  to  drive  past  the  Queen's 
Paliice,  and  to  show  us  where  the  Prince  of  Wales  lives. 
Before  long  we  shall  go  there  ourselves,  of  course,  with 
the  rest  of  the  nobility.  There's  only  one  thing  that 
troubles  me." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  253 

"What  is  that,  Clara  Martha?  You  air  thinkin', 
perhaps,  that  it  isn't  in  nature  for  them  to  keep  the 
dinners  every  day  up  to  the  same  pitch  of  elevation?" 

She  repressed  her  indignation  at  this  unworthy  sug- 
gestion. 

''  No,  Timothy ;  and  I  hope  your  lordship  will  remem- 
ber that  in  our  position  we  can  afford  to  despise  mere 
considerations  of  meat  and  drink,  and  wherewithal  we 
shall  be  clothed."  She  spoke  as  if  pure  Christianity 
was  impossible  beneath  their  rank,  and,  indeed,  she  had 
never  felt  so  truly  virtuous  before.  "  No,  Timothy,  my 
trouble  is  that  we  want  to  see  everything  there  is  to  be 
seen." 

"  That  is  so,  Clara  Martha.  Let  us  sit  in  this  luxu- 
rious chaise  and  see  it  all.  I  never  get  tired  o'  sittin', 
and  I  like  to  see  things." 

"  But  we  can  only  see  the  things  that  cost  nothing  or 
the  outside  things,  because  we've  got  no  money." 

"  No  monej'  at  all?" 

"  None ;  only  seven  shillings  and  three-pence  in  cop- 
pers." 

This  was  the  dreadful  truth.  Mrs.  Bormalack  had 
been  paid,  and  the  seven  shillings  was  all  that  remained. 

"  And,  oh,  there  is  so  much  to  see !  We'd  always  in- 
tended to  run  round  some  day,  only  we  were  too  busy 
with  the  case  to  find  the  time,  and  see  all  the  shows 
we'd  heard  tell  of — the  Tower  of  London  and  Westmin- 
ster Abbey,  and  the  monument  and  Mr.  Spurgeou's 
Tabernacle — but  we  never  thought  things  were  so  grand 
as  this.  When  we  get  home  we  will  ask  for  a  guide- 
book of  London,  and  pick  out  all  the  things  that  are 
open  free." 

That  day  they  drove  up  and  down  the  streets,  gazing 
at  the  crowds  and  the  shops.  When  they  got  home 
tea  was  brought  them  in  the  morning-room,  and  his 
lordship,  who  took  it  for  another  square  meal,  requested 
the  loaf  to  be  brought,  and  did  great  things  with  the 
bread  and  butter — and  having  no  footman  to  fear. 

At  half-past  seven  a  bell  rang,  and  presently  Miss 
Messenger's  maid  came  and  whispered  that  it  was  the 
first  bell,  and  would  her  ladyship  go  to  her  own  room, 
and  could  she  be  of  any  help? 

Lady  Davenant  rose  at  once,  looking,  however,  much 


254  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

surprised.  She  went  to  her  own  room,  followed  by  her 
husband,  too  much  astonished  to  ask  what  the  thing 
meant. 

There  was  a  beautiful  fire  in  the  room,  which  was 
very  large  and  luxuriously  furnished,  and  lit  with  gas 
burning  in  soft-colored  glass. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  delightful,"  said  her  lady- 
ship, "and  this  room  is  a  picture.  But  I  don't  under- 
stand it." 

"Perhaps  it's  the  custom,"  said  her  husband,  "for 
the  aristocracy  to  meditate  in  their  bedrooms." 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  she  repeated.  "The  girl 
said  the  first  bell.  What's  the  second?  They  can't 
mean  us  to  go  to  bed." 

"They  must,"  said  his  lordship.  "Yes,  we  must  go 
to  bed.  And  there  will  be  no  supper  to-night.  To- 
morrow, Clara  Martha,  you  must  speak  about  it,  and 
say  we're  accustomed  to  later  hours.  At  nine  o'clock 
or  ten  we  can  go  with  a  cheerful  heart — after  supper. 
But — well — it  looks  a  soft  bed,  and  I  dare  say  I  can 
sleep  in  it.  You've  nothing  to  say,  Clara  Martha,  be- 
fore I  shut  my  eyes.  Because  if  you  have,  get  it  off 
your  mind,  so's  not  to  disturb  me  afterward." 

He  proceeded  to  undress  in  his  most  leisurely  man- 
ner, and  in  ten  minutes  or  so  was  getting  into  bed. 
Just  as  his  head  fell  upon  the  pillows  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door. 

It  was  the  maid  who,  came  to  say  that  she  had  for- 
gotten to  tell  her  ladyship  that  dinner  was  at  eight. 

"What?"  cried  the  poor  lady,  startled  out  of  her  dig- 
nity. "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  we've  got  to  have 
dinner?" 

"Certainly,  my  lady;"  this  young  person  was  ex- 
tremel}^  well  behaved,  and  in  presence  of  her  masters 
and  mistresses  and  superiors  knew  not  the  nature  of  a 
smile. 

"My!" 

Her  ladA^ship  standing  at  the  door,  looked  first  at  the 
maid  without  and  then  at  her  husband,  whose  eyes 
were  closed,  and  who  Avas  experiencing  the  first  and 
balmj^  influences  of  sweet  sleep.  She  felt  so  helpless 
that  she  threw  away  her  dignity  and  cast  herself  upon 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  255 

the  lady's  maid.     "See  now!"  she  said,  "what  is  your 
name,  nw  dear?" 

"Campion,  my  lady." 
"  I  suppose  you've  got  a  Christian  name?" 
"  I  mean  that  Miss  Messenger  always  calls  me  Cam- 
pion." 

"  Well,  then,  I  suppose  I  must,  too.  We  are  simple 
people.  Miss  Campion,  and  not  long  from  America, 
where  they  do  things  different,  and  have  dinner  at  half- 
past  twelve  and  supper  at  six.  And  my  husband  has 
gone  to  bed.     What  is  to  be  done?" 

That  a  gentleman  should  suppose  bed  possible  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  was  a  thing  so  utterly  in- 
conceivable that  Campion  could  for  the  moment  sug- 
gest nothing.  She  only  stared.  Presently  she  ventured 
to  suggest  that  his  lordship  might  get  up  again. 

"  Get  up,  Timothy ;  get  up  this  minute !"  Her  lady- 
ship shook  and  pushed  him  till  he  opened  his  ej'es  and 
lifted  his  head.  "Don't  stop  to  ask  questions,  but  get 
up  right  away."  Then  she  ran  back  to  the  door. 
"  Miss  Campion !" 
"Yes,  my  lady." 

"  I  don't  mind  much  about  myself,  but  it  might  not 
look  well  for  his  lordship  not  to  seem  to  know'things 
just  exactly  how  they're  done  in  England.  So  please 
don't  tell  the  servants.  Miss  Campion." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  the  maid's  arm,  and  looked  so 
earnest,  that  the  girl  felt  sorrj-  for  her. 

"  No,  my  lady,"  she  replied.  And  she  kept  her  word, 
so  that  though  the  servants  all  knew  how  the  noble  lord 
and  his  lady  had  been  brought  from  Stepney  Green, 
and  how  his  lordship  floundered  among  the  plates  at 
lunch,  and  ate  up  half  a  loaf  with  afternoon  tea,  they 
did  not  know  that  he  went  to  bed  instead  of  dressing 
for  dinner. 

"And,  Miss  Campion, "  she  was  now  outside  the  door, 
holding  it  ajar,  and  the  movements  of  a  heavv  body 
hastily  putting  on  clothes  could  be  distinctly  heard, 
"3-0U  will  please  tell  me,  presently,  what  time  they  do 
have  things." 
"Yes,  my  lady." 
"Family  praj-ers  now?     His  lordship  will  lead,  of 


256  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

course — a  thing  he  is  quite  used  to,  and  can  do  better 
than  most,  having  always "  Here  she  stopped,  re- 
membering that  there  was  no  absolute  necessity  to  ex- 
plain the  duties  of  a  village  schoolmaster. 

"  There  are  no  family  prayers,  my  lad}",  and  your 
lad^'ship  can  have  dinner  or  any  other  meal  at  any  time 
you  please." 

"  His  lordship's  time  for  meals  will  be  those  of  his 
brother  peers." 

"  Yes,  iwy  ladj'.     Breakfast  at  ten?" 

"  Ten  will  do  perfectly."  It  was  two  hours  later  than 
their  usual  time  and  her  husband's  sufferings  would  be 
very  great.  Still,  everything  must  give  way  to  the 
responsibilities  of  the  rank. 

"  Will  your  ladyship  take  luncheon  at  half-past  one, 
and  tea  at  half -past  five,  and  dinner  at  eight':'" 

"  Yes,  now  that  we  know  them,  these  hours  will  suit 
me  perfectly.  We  do  not  in  our  own  country  take  tea 
before  dinner,  but  after  it.  That  is  nothing,  how- 
ever.    And  supper?" 

"  Your  ladyship  can  have  supper  whenever  you  want 
it,"  replied  the  maid.  She  hesitated  for  a  moment  and 
then  went  on.  "  It  is  not  usual  for  supper  to  be  served 
at  all" 

"  Oh !  then  we  must  go  without." 

B}^  this  time  her  husband  was  dressed,  and,  obedient 
to  instruction,  he  had  put  on  his  new  dress-coat,  with- 
out, however,  making  any  alteration  in  the  rest  of  his 
morning  garments.  The  effect,  therefore,  when  they 
descended  to  the  drawing-room  would  have  been  very 
startling,  but  for  the  fact  that  there  was  nobody  to  see  it. 

If  luncheon  was  a  great  meal,  dinner  was  far  more 
magnificent  and  stately ;  only  thei-e  were  two  footmen 
instead  of  one,  and  his  lordship  felt  that  he  could  not 
do  that  justice  to  the  dinner  which  the  dinner  deserved, 
because  those  two  great  hulking  fellows  in  livery 
watched  him  all  the  time.  After  dinner  they  sat  in 
the  great  drawing-room,  feeling  very  magnificent,  and 
yet  uncomfortable. 

"The  second  dinner,"  said  his  lordship,  in  a  half- 
whisper,  "made  me  feel,  Clara  Martha,  that  we  did 
right  to  leave  Canaan  City.  I  never  before  knew  what 
they  really  meant  by  enjoying  a  title,  and  I  don't  think 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  257 

I  ever  thoroughly  enjoyed  it  before.  The  red  mullet 
was  beautiful,  and  the  little  larks  in  paper  baskets 
made  me  feel  a  lord  all  over." 


CHAPTER    XXVII.     - 

THE   SAME   SIGNS. 

"This  he  has  done  for  love." 

When  Angela  returned  to  her  dressmakery,  it  was 
with  these  words  ringing  in  her  ears,  like  some  refrain 
which  continually  returns  and  will  not  be  silenced. 

"  This  he  has  done — for  love. " 

It  was  a  great  deal  to  do — a  great  deal  to  give  up; 
she  fully  realized,  after  her  talk  with  Lord  Jocelyn,  how 
much  it  was  that  he  had  given  up — at  her  request. 
What  had  she  herself  done,  she  asked,  in  comparison? 
She  had  given  money — an3'body  could  give  monej''. 
She  had  lived  in  disguise,  under  false  pretences,  for  a 
few  months ;  but  she  never  intended  to  go  on  living  in 
the  East  End,  after  she  had  set  her  association  on  a 
film  basis.  To  be  sure,  she  had  been  drawn  on  into 
wider  schemes,  and  could  not  retire  until  these,  includ- 
ing the  Palace  of  Delight,  were  well  started.  But  this 
young  man  had  given  up  all,  cheerfully,  for  her  sake. 
Because  she  was  a  dressmaker,  and  lived  at  Stepney, 
he  would  be  a  workman  and  live  there  as  well.  For 
her  sake  he  had  given  up  for  ever  the  life  of  ease  and 
culture  which  might  have  been  his,  among  the  gentle- 
folk to  whom  he  belonged ;  for  her  sake  he  left  the  man 
who  stood  to  him  in  loco  2jarentis;  for  her  sake  he 
gave  up  all  things  that  are  dear  to  j'oung  men,  and  be- 
came a  servant.  And  without  a  murmur.  She  watched 
him  going  to  his  work  in  the  morning,  cheerful,  with 
the  sunshine  ever  in  his  face — in  fact,  sunshine  lived 
there — his  head  erect,  his  e3'es  fearless,  not  repenting 
at  all  of  his  choice,  perhaps  hopeful  that  in  the  long  run 
those  impediments  spoken  of  might  be  removed;  in 
that  hope  he  lived.  Should  that  hope  be  disappointed — 
what  then?  Only  to  have  loved,  to  have  sacrificed  so 
much  for  the  sake  of  love,  Angela  said  to  herself,  think- 
ing of  something  she  had  read,  was  enough.  Then  she 
17 


258  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

laughed,  because  this  was  so  silly,  and  the  young  man 
deserved  to  have  some  reward. 

Then,  as  a  first  result  of  this  newly  acquired  knowl- 
edge, the  point  of  view  seemed  changed.  Quite  natu- 
rally, after  the  first  surprise  at  finding  so  much  cidtiva- 
tion  in  a  working-man,  she  regarded  him,  like  all  the 
rest,  from  her  own  elevated  platform.  In  the  same 
way  he,  from  his  own  elevation,  had  been,  in  a  sense, 
looking  down  upon  herself,  though  she  did  not  suspect 
the  fact.  One  might  pause  here,  in  order  to  discuss 
how  man}"  kinds  of  people  do  consider  themselves  on  a 
higher  level  than  their  neighbors.  My  own  opinion  is 
that  every  man  thinks  himself  on  so  very  high  a  plat- 
form as  to  entitle  him  to  consider  the  greater  part  of 
mankind  quite  below  him;  the  fact  that  no  one  else 
thinks  so  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Any  one,  how- 
ever, can  understand  how  Angela  would  at  first  regard 
Harry,  and  Harry  the  fair  dressmaker.  Further,  that, 
whatever  acquaintance  or  intimacy  grew  up  between 
them,  the  first  i7npression  Avould  always  remain,  with 
the  mental  attitude  of  a  slight  superiority  in  both 
minds,  so  long  as  the  first  impression,  the  first  belief 
as  to  the  real  facts,  was  not  removed.  Now  that  it  was 
removed  on  one  side,  Angela,  for  her  part,  could  no 
longer  look  down ;  there  was  no  superiority  left,  except 
in  so  far  as  the  daughter  of  a  Whitechapel  brewer  might 
consider  herself  of  finer  clay  than  the  son  of  a  sergeant 
in  the  army,  also  of  Whitechapel  origin. 

All  for  love  of  her. 

The  words  filled  her  heart:  they  made  her  cheeks 
burn  and  her  eyes  glow.  It  seemed  so. great  and  noble 
a  thing  to  do;  so  grand  a  sacrifice  to  make. 

She  remembered  her  words  of  contempt  when,  in  a 
shamefaced,  hesitating  way,  as  if  it  was  something 
wrong,  he  had  confessed  that  he  might  go  back  to  a  life 
of  idleness.  Why,  she  might  have  known — she  ought 
to  have  known — that  it  was  not  to  an  ignoble  life  among 
ignoble  people  that  he  would  go.  Yet  she  was  so 
stupid. 

What  a  sacrifice  to  make !     And  all  for  love  of  her ! 

Then  the  flower  of  love  sprang  up  and  immediately 
blossomed,  and  was   a   beauteous   rose,  ready   for  her 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  2o9 

lover  to  g-ather  and  place  upon  his  heart.  But  as  3'et 
she  hardly  knew  it. 

Yet  she  had  known  all  along  that  Harry  loved  her. 
He  never  tried  to  conceal  his  passion.  "Why,"  she 
said  to  herself,  trying  tt)  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
sudden  change  in  herself — "'  why,  it  only  seemed  to 
amuse  me ;  the  thing  was  ahsurd ;  and  I  felt  pity  for 
him,  and  a  little  anger  because  he  was  so  presumptuous ; 
and  I  was  a  little  embarrassed  for  fear  I  had  compro- 
mised myself  with  him.  But  it  wasn't  absurd  at  all; 
and  he  loves  me,  though  I  have  no  fortune.  Oh, 
heaven!  I  am  a  she-Dives,  and  he  doesn't  know  it,  and 
he  loves  me  all  the  same." 

She  was  to  tell  him  when  the  "  impediments"  were  re- 
moved. Why,  they  were  removed  alread}'.  But 
should  she  tell  him?  How  could  she  dare  to  tell  him? 
No  girl  likes  to  do  her  own  wooing ;  she  must  be 
courted;  she  must  be  won.  Besides — perhaps — but 
here  she  smiled — he  was  not  so  very  much  in  love,  after 
all.  Perhaps  he  would  change;  perhaps  he  would 
grow  tired  and  go  home  and  desert  her;  perhaps  he 
would  fall  in  love  with  some  one  else.  And  perhaps 
Angela,  the  strong-minded  student  of  Xewnham,  who 
would  have  no  love  or  marriage,  or  anything  of  the 
kind,  in  her  life,  was  no  stronger  than  any  of  her  sisters 
at  the  approach  of  Love  the  Unconquered. 

She  came  back  the  evening  after  thnt  dinner.  Her 
cheek  had  a  new  color  upon  it ;  there  was  a  new  smile 
upon  her  lips;  there  was  a  new  softness  in  her  eyes. 

"You  look  so  beautiful  this  evening,"  said  Nelly. 
"  Have  you  been  happ}^  while  you  were  away?" 

"I  have  heard  something  that  has  made  me  happier." 
said  Angela.  "  But  you,  dear  Nelly,  have  not.  Why 
are  your  cheeks  so  pale,  and  what  is  the  meaning  of 
the  dark  lines  under  your  eyes?" 

"It  is  nothing,"  the  girl  replied  quickly.  "I  am 
quite  well."  But  she  was  not.  She  was  nervous  and 
prec^ccupipd.     There  was  something  on  her  mind. 

Then  Harry  came,  and  they  began  to  pass  the  even- 
ing in  the  usual  way,  practising  their  songs,  with 
music,  and  the  little  dance,  without  which  the  girls  could 
not  have  gone  away  happy.     And  Angela,  for  the  first 


260  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

time,  observed  a  thing  which  struck  a  chill  to  her 
heart,  and  robbed  her  of  half  her  joy. 

Why  had  she  never  before  discovered  this  thing? 
Ah !  ignorant  maiden,  despite  the  wisdom  of  the  schools. 
Hypatia  herself  Avas  not  more  ignorant  than  Angela, 
who  knew  not  that  the  chief  quality  of  the  rose  of  love 
in  her  heart  was  to  make  her  read  the  hearts  of  others. 
Armed  with  this  magic  power,  she  saw  what  she  might 
have  seen  long  before. 

In  the  hasty  glance,  the  quick  flush,  the  nervous 
trembling  of  her  hands,  poor  Nelly  betrayed  her  secret. 
And  by  those  signs  the  other  girl,  who  loved  the  same 
man,  read  that  secret. 

"  O  selfish  woman !"  said  Angela's  heart.  "  Is  your 
happiness  to  be  bought  at  such  a  cost?" 

A  girl  of  lower  nature  might  liaA^e  been  jealous. 
Angela  was  not.  It  seemed  to  her  no  sin  in  ISTelh"  that 
she  thought  too  much  of  such  a  man.  But  she  pitied 
her.  Nor  did  she,  as  some  women  might  have  done, 
suspect  that  Harry  had  trifled  with  her  feelings.  She 
knew  that  he  had  not.  She  had  seen  them  together, 
day  after  day ;  she  knew  what  his  bearing  had  always 
been  toward  her,  frank,  courteous,  and  brotherly.  He 
called  her  by  her  Christian  name;  he  liked  her,  her 
presence  was  pleasant ;  she  was  pretty,  sweet,  and  win- 
ning. No :  she  did  not  suspect  him.  And  yet,  what 
should  she  say  to  the  poor  girl?  How  comfort  her? 
How  reconcile  her  to  the  inevitable  sorrow? 

"Nelly,"  she  whispered  at  parting,  "if  you  are  un- 
happ3%  my  child,  you  must  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"I  cannot,"  Nelly  replied.  "But  oh!  do  not  think 
about  me,  Miss  Kennedy;  I  am  not  worth  it." 

Perhaps  she,  too,  had  read  those  same  signs  and 
knew  what  they  meant. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

HARRY    FINDS    LIBERTY. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  the  Stepnej''  Advanced 
Club,  where  Dick  Coppin  thundered,  and  burning  ques- 
tions were  discussed,  and  debates  held  on  high  political 
points,  and  where  more  ideas  were  submitted  and  more 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  2G1 

projects  set  forth  in  a  single  year  than  in  all  the  rest  of 
London  in  two  3'ears.  The  members  of  the  Advanced 
Club  were  mostly  j'oung  men,  but  there  was  a  sj^rink- 
ling  among  them  of  grizzled  beards  who  remembered 
'48  and  the  dreams  of  Chartism.  They  had  got  by  this 
time  pretty  well  all  they  clamored  for  in  their  by-gone 
da3'S,  and  when  they  thought  of  this,  and  remembered 
how  everything  was  to  go  well  as  soon  as  the  five  points 
of  the  Charter  were  carried,  and  how  everj'thing  still 
remained  in  the  same  upside-down,  topsy-turvy,  one- 
sided, muddle-headed  perverseness  just  as  if  those 
points  had  not  been  carried,  they  became  sad.  Never- 
theless, the  habit  of  demanding  remained,  because  the 
reformer  is  like  the  daughter  of  the  horse-leech,  and 
still  cries  for  more.  Yefrthey  had  less  confidence  than 
of  old  in  the  reformer's  great  nostrum  of  destruction. 
The  younger  men,  of  course,  were  quite  sure,  absolutely 
sure,  that  with  a  little  more  upsetting  and  down-pulling 
the  balance  would  be  set  right,  and  a  beautiful  straight 
level  of  universal  happiness  would  be  reached. 

Angela  heard,  from  time  to  time,  of  the  meetings  of 
this  club.  Harry  told  her  how  his  cousin  Dick  had 
surpassed  himself;  how  they  were  going  to  abolish 
Crown,  Church,  and  House  of  Lords,  with  landlordism, 
law^'ers,  established  armies,  pauperdom,  Divesdom, 
taxes,  and  all  kinds  of  things  which  the  hateful  Tory 
or  that  pitiful  creature  the  moderate  Liberal  considers 
necessary  for  the  welfare  of  the  state.  And  she  knew 
that  Harry  went  there  and  spoke  occasionally,  and  that 
he  had  made  in  a  quiet  way  some  sort  of  mark  among 
the  members.  One  evening,  about  this  time,  she  met 
Dick  Coppin  returning  from  his  work,  in  which,  unlike 
his  cousin,  he  did  not  disdain  the  apron  nor  the  box  of 
tools. 

"There's  going  to  be  a  debate  on  Sunday,"  he  said, 
half  shyly  and  half  boastfully,  "at  the  club.  It's  on 
the  abolition  of  the  House  of  Lords.  I  am  going  to 
speak,  and  if  you  like  to  come,  you  and  one  or  two 
of  the  girls,  I'll  pass  j'ou  in,  and  you  will  hear  a  thing 
or  two  that  will  open  your  ej^es." 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Coppin.  I  alwaj'S 
like  to  have  my  eyes  opened.  Will  there  be  many 
speakers?" 


263  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"There  will  be  me,"  he  replied  with  simple  grand- 
eur. "  I  don't  think,  when  I've  said  my  say,  that  there 
will  remain  much  more  to  be  said  by  anybody.  Cousin 
Harry  maj^  get  up,  perhaps  " — his  face  assumed  a  little 
uneasiness — "  but  no,  I  don't  think  he  will  find  any 
holes  in  me.  I've  got  the  facts;  I've  gone  to  the  right 
quarter  to  get  'em.     No:  he  can't  deny  ni}''  facts." 

"VeryweU,  Mr.  Coppin.  Perhaps  we  will  go  to  hear 
you.     But  be  very  sure  about  your  facts." 

Angela  said  nothing  about  the  proposed  debate  or  her 
intention  of  being  present,  but  she  learned  from  Harry 
that  there  really  was  going  to  be  a  field-night,  and  that 
Dick  Coppin  was  expected  to  come  out  in  more  than 
his  usual  strength.  The  informant  said  nothing  about 
his  own  intentions.  Indeed,  he  had  none,  but  he  was 
falling  into  the  habit  of  spending  an  hour  or  two  at  the 
club  on  Sunday  evening  before  finishing  off  with  the 
girls;  sometimes  he  spoke,  but  of tener  he  listened  and 
came  away  silent  and  reflected.  The  Advanced  Club 
offered  ample  material  for  one  who  knows  how  to  re- 
flect. Humanity  is  a  grand  subject,  and,  in  fact,  is 
the  only  subject  left  for  an  epic  poem.  But  perhaps  the 
action  would  drag.  Here,  Harry  saw,  was  a  body  of 
men,  old  and  j-oung,  all  firmly  persuaded  that  things 
were  wrong;  that  things  might  be  made  better,  yet  cast- 
ing about  blindly  for  a  remedy,  and  crying  aloud  for 
a  leader.  And  those  who  desired  to  lead  them  had 
nothing  to  offer  but  a  stone  instead  of  bread,  ^he  fact 
that  this  5'oung  man  did  listen  and  reflect  shows  how 
greatly  he  was  changed  from  him  whom  we  first  met 
in  the  prologue.  Regular  hours,  simple  living,  reason- 
ably hard  work  strengthened  his  nerves  for  anything ; 
he  was  harder;  the  men  with  whom  he  talked  were 
rougher,  and  the  old  carelessness  was  gone.  He  kept 
his  gayety  of  heart,  yet  it  was  sobered ;  he  felt  responsi- 
ble. He  knew  so  much  more  than  the  men  around  him 
that  he  felt  a  consuming  desire  to  set  them  right,  but 
could  not,  for  he  was  tongue-tied ;  he  had  not  yet  found 
liberty,  as  the  old  preachers  used  to  say ;  when  he  felt 
most  strongly  that  the  speakers  were  on  a  false  track 
he  spoke  most  feebly ;  he  wanted  to  be  a  prophet,  and 
there  were  only  confused  ideas,  blurred  perceptions  to 
work  upon.     Now  the  first  steps  toward  being  a  prophet 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  2(53 

— which  is  a  most  laudable  ambition — is  to  see  quite 
clearly  one's  self  and  to  understand  what  one  means. 
He  could  set  a  man  right  as  to  facts,  he  could  shut  up 
a  speaker  and  make  the  club  laugh,  but  he  could  not 
move  them.  As  yet  Harry  was  only  in  the  position 
occupied  during  a  long  life  by  the  late  prophet  of  Chel- 
sea, inasmuch  as  he  distinctly  perceived  the  folly  of 
his  neighbors,  but  could  teach  no  way  of  wisdom. 
This  is  a  form  of  prophetical  utterance  which  has  never 
possessed  much  weight  with  the  people ;  they  want  di- 
rect teaching  and  a  leader  who  knows  what  he  means 
and  whither  he  would  conduct  them,  if  it  be  only  in  the 
direction  of  one  of  those  poor,  old  worn-out  panaceas 
once  warranted  to  guarantee  universal  happiness,  like 
the  ballot-box.  Not  that  Harry  grew  miserable  over 
his  failure  to  prophesy — not  at  all ;  he  only  wished  for 
words  of  wisdom  and  power,  and  sat  meanwhile  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  hat  pulled  over  his 
ej^es  like  a  minister  in  the  House  of  Commons,  while 
the  members  of  the  club  poured  forth  their  frothy  de- 
clamation, each  louder  than  his  predecessor,  trying  to 
catch  the  applause  of  an  assembly  which  generally 
shouted  for  the  loudest.  The  times  might  be  out  of 
joint,  but  Harry  felt  no  inspiration  as  to  the  way  of 
setting  them  right;  if  a  thing  came  to  him  he  would  say 
it — if  not,  he  v.ould  wait.  The  great  secret  about  wait- 
ing is  that  while  a  man  waits  he  thinks,  and  if  he  thinks 
in  solitude  and  waits  long  enough,  letting  words  lie  in 
his  brain  and  listening  to  ideas  which  come  upon  him, 
sometimes  singly  and  slovvdy,  sometimes  in  crowds  like 
the  fancies  of  a  wakeful  night,  there  presents  itself  an 
idea  at  last  which  seizes  upon  him  and  holds  him  cap- 
tive, and  works  itself  out  in  his  brain  while  he  mechan- 
ically goes  on  with  the  work,  the  rest,  the  toil,  and  the 
pleasure  of  his  daily  life.  Solitary  work  is  favorable 
to  meditation;  therefore,  while  Harry  was  shaping 
things  at  his  lathe  undisturbed  by  no  one,  his  brain  was 
at  work.  And  a  thought  came  to  him  which  lay  tliere 
dimly  perceived  at  first,  but  growing  larger  daily  till  it 
filled  his  head  and  drew  unto  itself  all  his  other  thoughts, 
so  that  everything  he  saw,  or  read,  or  heard,  or  medi- 
tated upon,  became  like  a  rill  or  rivulet  which  goes  to 
swell  a  great  river.     And  it  was  this  thought,  growing 


2M  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

into  shape  at  last,  which  he  proclaimed  to  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Advanced  Club  on  the  night  of  their  great 
debate. 

It  was  not  a  large  hall,  but  it  was  perfectly  filled 
with  people;  chiefly  they  were  men  and  young  men, 
but  among  them  were  a  good  mmi}-  women  and  girls. 
Does  it  ever  occur  to  the  "  better  class"  that  the  work  of 
woman's  emancipation  is  advancing  in  certain  circles 
witli  rapid  strides?  That  is  so,  nevertheless ;  and  large, 
if  not  pleasant,  results  may  be  expected  in  a  few  years 
therefrom.  It  must  be  remembered  that  for  the  most 
part  the}'  start  perfectly  free  from  any  trammels  of  re- 
ligion. It  has  been  stated  that  the  basis  of  all  their 
philosophy  is,  and  always  will  be,  the  axiom  that  eveiy 
one  must  get  as  much  as  possible  for  herself  out  of  the 
rather  limited  ration  of  pleasure  supplied  to  humanity. 
Whether  that  is  true  I  know  not.  Angela  watched 
these  women  with  curiosity ;  they  were  mostly  3'oung, 
and  some  of  them  were  pretty,  and  there  was  absolutely 
nothing  to  show  that  they  thought  differently  from  any 
other  women.  Some  of  them  had  brought  their  work; 
some  were  talking;  tliey  were  not  excited  by  the  pros- 
pect of  the  coming  debate — they  expected,  in  fact,  noth- 
ing more  than  they  had  already  heard  over  and  over 
again.  There  v/as  too  much  gas,  the  atmosphere  was 
already  heavj^  and  the  walls  already  shiny,  before  the 
meeting  began.  On  the  platform  was  a  chair  for  the 
chairman,  with  a  table  and  a  hammer  and  a  decanter 
of  water  and  a  glass.  Angela  sat  far  back  against  the 
door,  with  Captain  Sorensen  and  Nelly.  She  was  si- 
lent, wondering  at  these  people  and  why  they  should 
trouble  themselves  about  the  House  of  Lords,  and 
whether  they  never  felt  Sinj  desire  at  all  for  the  religion 
which  brings  joy  and  happiness  to  so  many  suffering 
lives.  Presently  she  saw  Harry  walk  slowly  up  the 
middle  aisle  and  take  a  place,  for  there  was  no  chair, 
on  the  steps  which  led  to  the  platform.  She  was  so  far 
back  that  he  could  not  see  her,  for  which  afterward  she 
was  glad. 

The  chairman,  a  man  stricken  in  j^ears,  with  gray 
hair  and  a  grizzled  beard,  and  one  of  those  ex-Chartists 
01  whom  we  have  spoken,  took  the  chair,  hammered  the 
table,  and  opened  the  debate.     He  was  a  man  of  great 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  265 

reputation,  having  been  all  his  life  an  Irreconcilable, 
and  he  was  suspected  of  being  a  Socialist,  and  was  cer- 
tainly a  Red  Republican.  He  began  in  the  usual  way 
by  stating  as  an  axiom  that  the  people  can  do  no  wiong; 
that  to  intrust  the  destinies  of  a  nation  to  the  People 
is  to  insure  its  greatness;  that  Manhood  is  the  only 
rank — and  so  forth,  all  in  capital  letters  with  notes  of 
admiration.  The  words  were  strong,  but  they  pro- 
duced no  effect,  because  the  speech  had  been  made  be- 
fore a  great  many  times,  and  the  people  knew  it  by 
heart.  Therefore,  though  it  was  the  right  thing  to 
saj^,  and  the  thing  expected  of  a  chairman,  nobody  paid 
any  attention. 

The  discussion,  which  was  all  one-sided,  then  began. 
Two  or  three  young  men  rose  one  after  the  other ;  they 
were  listened  to  with  the  indulgence  which  is  always 
accorded  to  beginners.  None  of  them  made  a  point,  or 
said  a  good  thing,  or  went  outside  the  theories  of  un- 
taught, if  generous  youth,  and  their  ignorance  was 
such  as  to  make  Angela  almost  weep. 

Then  Dick  Coppin  mounted  the  platform,  and  ad- 
vanced, amid  the  plaudits  of  the  expectant  audience. 
He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  coarse,  black  hair, 
straightened  himself  up  to  his  full  height  of  five  feet 
six,  drank  a  little  water,  and  then,  standing  beside  the 
chairman's  table  with  his  right  hand  resting  upon  it 
when  he  was  not  waving  it  about,  he  began,  slowly  at 
first,  but  afterward  with  fluent  speech  and  strong 
words,  and  a  ringing  voice,  the  harangue  which  he  had 
so  carefully  prepared.  Of  course,  he  condemned  the 
House  of  Lords  tooth  and  nail ;  it  must  be  destro3'ed 
root  and  branch ;  it  was  a  standing  insult  to  the  common 
sense  of  the  nation ;  it  was  an  effete  and  worn-out  insti- 
tution, against  which  the  enlightenment  of  the  age  cried 
out  aloud ;  it  was  an  obstruction  to  Progress ;  it  was  a 
menace  to  the  poeple ;  it  was  a  thing  of  the  past ;  it  Avas 
an  enemy  of  the  working-man ;  it  was  a  tyrant,  who  had 
the  will  but  not  the  power  to  tyrannize  any  longer;  it 
was  a  toothless  old  wolf,  who  could  bark  but  could  not 
bite.  Those  free  and  enlightened  men  sitting  before 
him,  members  of  the  Advanced  Club,  had  pronounced 
its  doom — therefore,  it  must  go.  The  time  had  come 
when  the  nation  would  endure  no  longer   to   have   a 


2G0  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COyDIlUOXS  OF  3IEN. 

privileged  class,  and  would  be  mocked  no  more  by  the 
ridiculous  spectacle  of  hereditary  legislators. 

He  pursued  tliis  topic  with  great  freedom  of  language 
and  a  great  eloquence  of  a  rough  and  uncultivated  kind ; 
his  hearers,  getting  gradually  warmed,  interrupted  him 
by  those  plaudits  which  go  straighf  to  the  heart  of  the 
born  orator,  and  stir  him  to  his  strongest  and  his  best. 

Then  he  changed  his  line  and  attempted  to  show  that 
the  families  which  compose  the  Upper  House  are  them- 
selves, as  well  as  their  institution,  worn-out,  used  up, 
and  lost  to  the  vigor  which  first  pushed  them  to  the 
front.  Where  were  now  their  fighting  men?  he  asked. 
Where  were  their  orators'?  Which  among  them  all  was 
of  any  real  importance  to  his  party?  Which  of  them 
had  in  modern  times  done  anything,  proposed  anything, 
or  thought  of  anything  for  the  advancement  of  knowl- 
edge or  the  good  of  the  people?  Not  one  able  man,  he 
said,  among  them;  luxury  had  ruined  and  corrupted 
all;  their  blood  was  poisoned;  they  could  drink  and 
eat;  they  could  practise  other  luxurious  habits,  which 
he  enumerated  with  fidelity,  lest  there  should  be  any 
mistake  about  the  matter;  and  then  they  could  go  to 
the  House  reeling  into  it  drunk  with  wine,  and  oppose 
the  Will  of  the  People. 

Then  he  turned  from  generalities  to  particulars,  and 
entertained  his  audience  w^tli  anecdotes  gleaned,  Heaven 
knows  how,  from  the  private  histories  of  many  noble 
families,  tending  to  show  the  corruption  into  which  the 
British  aristocracy'  had  fallen.  These  anecdotes  were 
received  with  that  keenness  which  always  awaits  sto- 
ries which  show  how  wicked  other  people  are,  and  what 
are  the  newest  fashions  and  hitherto  unknown  forms  of 
vice.  Angela  marvelled,  on  her  part,  to  hear  "  scandal 
about  Queen  Elizabeth"  at  Stepney. 

Then,  after  an  impeachment  which  lasted  for  half  an 
hour,  he  thundered  forth  an  appeal — not  at  all  novel  to 
his  hearers,  yet  still  effective,  because  his  voice  was 
like  a  trumpet — to  the  men  before  him  to  rise  in  their 
millions,  their  majest}',  and  their  might,  and  to  bear 
the  accursed  thing  down. 

He  sat  down,  at  last,  wiping  his  forehead,  and  ex- 
hausted but  triumphant.  Never  before  had  he  so  com- 
pletely carried  his   audience  with  him;    never   before 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  267 

had  he  obtained  such  flow  of  language,  and  such  mas- 
tery over  his  voice;  never  before  had  he  reahzed  so 
fully  that  he  was,  he  himself,  an  orator  inferior  to  none. 
As  he  sat  down,  while  the  men  clapped  their  hands  and 
cheered,  a  vision  of  greatness  passed  before  his  mind. 
He  would  be  the  Leader  of  the  People ;  the}-  should  look 
to  him  as  they  had  never  yet  looked  to  any  man  for 
guidance.  And  he  would  lead  them.  Whither?  But, 
this,  in  the  dream  of  the  moment,  mattered  nothing. 

A  cold  chill  came  over  him  as  he  saw  his  cousin 
Harry  leap  lightly  to  the  platform  and  take  his  place  at 
the  table.  For  he  foresaw  trouble ;  and  all  the  more 
because  those  of  the  audience  who  knew  Gentleman  Jack 
laughed  in  expectation  of  that  trouble.  Fickle  and  fleet- 
ing is  the  breath  of  popular  favor ;  onlj'-  a  moment  be- 
fore and  they  were  cheering  him  to  the  skies ;  now  thej* 
laughed  because  they  hoped  he  was  to  be  made  to  look 
a  fool.  But  the  orator  took  heart,  considering  that  his 
facts  were  undeniable. 

When  the  tumult  had  subsided,  Harry,  to  everybody 
astonishment,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  cousin's  shoulder 
— a  gesture  of  approbation — and  looked  round  the  room, 
and  said  quieth',  but  loud  enough  to  be  heard  b}^  all : 

"My  cousin,  Dick  Coi^pin,  can  talk.  That  was  a 
very  good  speech  of  his,  wasn't  it?" 

Voices  were  heard  asking  if  he  could  better  it. 

"No,"  Harry  replied,"!  can't.  I  wish  I  could." 
He  took  his  place  beside  the  table,  and  gazed  for  a  few 
moments  at  the  faces  below  him.  Angela  observed  that 
his  face  was  pale,  though  the  carriage  of  his  head  was 
brave.  "  I  wish, "  he  repeated,  "  that  I  could.  Because, 
after  all  these  fireworks,  it  is  such  a  tame  thing  just  to 
tell  you  that  there  wasn't  a  word  of  sense  in  the  whole 
speech." 

Here  there  were  signs  of  wrath,  but  the  general  feel- 
ing was  to  let  the  speaker  have  his  say. 

"  Do  you  suppose— any  of  you — that  Dick  believes  that 
the  Lords  go  rolling  drunk  to  the  House?  Of  course 
he  doesn't.  Do  you  suppose  that  he  thinks  you  such 
fools  as  to  believe  it?  Of  course  he  doesn't.  But  then, 
you  see,  Dick  must  have  his  fireworks.  And  it  was  a 
first-rate  speech.  Do  you  suppose  he  believes  the  Lords 
are  a  worn-out  lot?     Xot  he.     He  knows  better.     And 


268  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

if  any  of  you  feel  inclined  to  think  so,  go  and  look  at 
them.  You  will  find  them  as  well  set  up  as  most,  and 
better.  You  can  hear  some  of  them  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  where  you  send  them,  you  electors.  Wher- 
ever there  are  Englishmen  working,  fighting,  or  sport- 
ing, there  are  some  of  those  families  among  them.  As 
for  their  corruption,  that's  fireworks,  too.  Dick  has 
told  you  some  beautiful  stories  which  he  challenged 
anybody  to  dispute.  I  dare  say  they  are  all  true. 
What  he  forgot  to  tell  you  is  that  he  has  picked  out 
these  stories  from  the  last  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and 
expects  you  to  believe  that  they  all  happened  yesterday. 
Shall  we  charge  you,  members  of  the  club,  with  all  the 
crimes  of  the  \Vhitechapel  Road  for  a  hundred  years? 
If  you  want  to  upset  the  House  of  L^ords,  go  and  do  it. 
But  don't  do  it  with  lies  on  your  lij)s,  and  on  false  pre- 
tences. You  know  how  virtuous  and  moral  you  are 
yourselves.  Then  just  remember  that  the  members  of 
the  House  of  Lords  are  about  as  moral  as  you  are,  or 
rather  better.  Abolish  the  House  of  Lords  if  you  like. 
How  much  better  will  you  be  when  it  is  gone?  You 
can  go  on  abolishing.  There  is  the  Church.  Get  it 
disestablished.  Think  how  much  better  you  will  all  be 
when  the  churches  are  pulled  down.  Yet  you  couldn't 
stay  away  any  more  then  than  you  do.  You  want  the 
Land  Laws  reformed.  Get  them  reformed,  and  think 
how  much  land  you  will  get  for  yourselves  out  of  that 
reform. 

"  Dick  Coppin  says  you  have  got  the  power.  So  you 
have.  He  says  the  last  Reform  Bill  gave  it  to  you. 
There  he  makes  a  mistake.  You  have  always  had  the 
power.  You  have  always  had  all  the  power  there  is. 
It  is  yours,  because  you  are  the  people,  and  what  the 
people  want  they  will  have.  Your  power  is  your  birth- 
right. You  are  an  irresistible  giant,  who  has  only  to 
roar  in  order  to  get  what  he  wants. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  roar?  Because  you  don't 
know  what  you  do  want.  Because  your  leaders  don't 
know  any  more  than  yourselves ;  because  the}^  go  bawl- 
ing for  things  which  will  do  you  no  good,  and  don't 
know  what  it  is  you  do  want. 

"You  think  that  by  making  j^ourselves  into  clubs 
and  calling  yourselves  Radicals,  you  are  getting  for- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  269 

ward.  You  think  that  by  listening  to  a  chap  like  my 
cousin  Dick,  who's  a  clever  fellow  and  a  devil  for  fire- 
works, you  somehow  improve  your  own  condition. 
Did  3'ou  ever  ask  yourselves  what  difference  the  form 
i^i  government  makes?  I  have  been  in  America  where, 
if  anywhere,  the  people  have  it  their  own  way.  Do 
you  think  work  is  more  plentiful,  wages  better,  hours 
shorter,  things  cheaper  in  a  republic?  Do  you  think 
the  heels  of  your  boots  last  any  longer?  If  you  do, 
think  so  no  longer.  Whether  the  House  of  Lords,  or 
the  Church,  or  the  Land  Laws  stand  or  fall,  that,  my 
friends,  makes  not  the  difference  of  a  pennj'-piece  to 
any  single  man  among  us.  You  who  agitate  for  their 
destruction  are  generously  giving  your  time  and  trouble 
for  things  which  help  no  man.  And  3-et  there  are  so 
many  things  that  can  help  us, 

"It  comes  of  5"our  cursed  ignorance"  (Harry  was 
warming  up) — "I  say,  youi  cursed  ignorance.  You 
know  nothing;  you  understand  nothing  of  your  own 
country.  You  do  not  know  how  its  institutions  have 
grown  up ;  why  it  is  so  prosperous ;  why  changes,  when 
they  have  to  be  made,  should  be  made  slowl}'  and  not 
before  they  are  necessary ;  nor  how  you  yourselves  may 
climb  up,  if  you  will,  into  a  life  above  you,  much  hap- 
pier, much  more  pleasant.  You  do  not  respect  the  old 
institutions,  because  you  don't  know  them;  you  desire 
new  things  because  3'ou  don't  understand  the  old.  Go 
— learn — make  your  orators  learn,  and  make  them  teach 
you.  And  then  send  them  to  the  House  of  Commons 
to  represent  you. 

"  You  think  that  governments  can  do  everything  for 
you.  You  fools !  has  any  government  ever  done  any- 
thing for  3'oa?  Has  it  raised  jowr  wages — has  it 
shortened  your  hours?  Can  it  protect  you  against 
rogues  and  adulterers?  Will  it  ever  try  to  better  your 
position?  Never,  never,  never! — because  it  cannot. 
Does  any  government  ask  what  you  want — what  3'ou 
ought  to  want?  No.  Can  it  give  you  what  you  want? 
No. 

"Listen.  You  want  clean  streets  and  houses  in 
which  decent  folks  can  live.  The  government  has  ap- 
pointed sanitary  officers.  Yet,  look  about  3-ou !  .Put 
your  heads  in  the  courts  of  Whitechapel.     What  has 


270  ALL  SOBTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

the  sanitary  officer  done?  Yon  want  strong  and  well- 
built  houses.  There  are  government  inspectors;  yet, 
look  at  the  lath  and  plaster  houses  that  a  child  could 
kick  over.  You  want  honest  food — all  that  you  eat  and 
drink  is  adulterated.  How  does  the  government  help 
you  there? 

"  You  have  the  power — all  the  power  there  is.  You 
cannot  use  it,  because  you  don't  know  how.  You  ex- 
pect the  government  to  use  your  power — to  do  your 
work.  My  friends,  I  will  tell  you  the  secret.  What- 
ever you  want  done  you  must  do  for  yourselves !  No 
one  else  will  do  it  for  j^ou.  You  must  agree  that 
such  and  such  shall  be  done ;  and  then,  be  very  sure, 
you  will  get  it  done. 

"  In  politics  you  are  used  as  the  counters  of  a  game — 
each  side  plays  with  you.  Not  for  you,  mind.  You 
get  nothing,  whichever  side  is  in — you  are  the  pawns. 

"  It  is  something,  perhaps,  to  take  even  so  much 
part  in  the  game;  but,  as  3'ou  get  nothing  but  the 
honor,  I  am  rather  surprised  at  your  going  on  with  it. 
And,  if  I  might  advise,  it  would  be  that  we  give  that 
game  over,  and  play  one  by  ourselves,  in  which  there 
really  is  something  to  be  got. 

"  What  we  must  play  for  is  what  we  want.  What 
we  have  got  to  do  is,  to  remember  that  when  we  say 
we  will  have  a  thing — nobody  can  resist  us.  Have  it 
we  must,  because  we  are  the  masters. 

"  Now  then,  what  do  we  want?" 

Harry  was  quite  serious  by  this  time,  and  so  were 
the  faces  of  those  who  listened — though  there  was  a  lit- 
tle angry  doubt  on  some  of  them.  No  one  replied  to 
the*  question.  Some  of  the  j^ounger  men  looked  as  if 
they  might,  perhaps,  have  answered  in  the  words  of 
the  sailor — "  More  rum. "  But  they  refrained,  and  pre- 
served silence. 

"  What  do  we  want?  Has  any  one  of  you  considered 
what  we  do  want?  Let  me  tell  you  a  few  things.  I 
can't  think  of  man}";  but  I  know  a  few  that  j^ou  ought 
to  put  first. 

"  You  want  your  own  local  government — what  every 
little  country  town  has,  you  have  not.  You  want  to 
elect    your    ojvn    aldermen,    mayors,    guardians,    and 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  2T1 

school-boards — be  yourselves — be  3'ourselves.  Get  that 
first,  and  abolish  the  House  of  Lords  afterward. 

"There  is  your  food?  You  ought  to  get  your  beef 
from  America,  at  threepence  a  pound,  and  you  are  con- 
tented to  give  a  shilling.  You  ought  to  have  j'our  fish 
at  twopence  a  pound,  and  j^ou  pay  whatever  they  choose 
to  charge  you.  You  drink  bad  beer,  bad  spirits,  bad 
tea,  bad  cocoa,  bad  coffee,  because  you  don't  know  that 
the  things  are  bad  and  dear;  and  because  you  don't 
understand  that  you  have  only  got  to  resolve  in  order 
to  get  all  this  changed.  It  is,  you  see,  your  cursed 
ignorance. 

"  There  are  your  houses !  The  rich  people — having 
more  knowledge  than  you,  and  more  determination — 
have  found  out  how  to  build  houses  so  as  to  prevent 
fevers.  You  live  in  houses  built  to  catch  fever — fever- 
traps!  When  you  find  out  what  you  want,  you  will 
refuse  to  live  in  such  houses.  You  will  refuse  to  let 
anybody  live  in  such  houses.  You  will  come  out  of 
them — you  will  have  them  pulled  down. 

"  When  it  comes  to  building  up  better  houses,  you 
will  remember  that  paid  inspectors  are  squared  by  the 
builders — so  that  the  cement  is  mud  and  sand;  and  the 
bricks  are  crumbling  clay ;  and  the  walls  crack,  and  the 
floors  are  shaky.  Therefore  you  will  be  3-our  own  in- 
spectors. 

"The  Government  makes  us  send  our  children  to 
boarding  schools  to  be  educated.  That  would  be  very 
noble  of  the  Government  if  they  had  first  considered — ■ 
Avhich  nobody  has — what  sort  of  education  a  working- 
man  wants.  As  yet  they  have  only  got  as  far  as  spell- 
ing. When  a  boy  can  spell  they  think  he  is  educated. 
Once  it  was  all  kings  of  Israel — now  it  is  all  spelling. 
Is  that  what  you  want?  Do  you  think  it  matters  hnv/ 
you  spell,  so  that  you  know?  Are  you  contented  that 
your  children  shall  know  nothing  about  this  great 
country — nothing  of  its  wealth  and  people;  nothing 
of  their  duties  as  citizens;  nothing  of  their  own 
trade?  Shall  they  not  be  taught  that  theirs  is  the 
power — that  they  can  do  what  they  like,  and  have  what 
they  like,  if  they  like? 

"  Do  you  resolve  that  the  education  of  your  children 
shall  be  real,  and  it  will  become  real;  but  don't  look  to 


272  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Government  to  do  it  or  it  will  continue  to  be  spelling. 
Find  out  the  thing  that  you  want,  and  send  your  own 
men  to  the  school-boards  to  get  that  thing  done, 

"Another  thing  that  you  want  is  pleasure — men  can't 
do  without  it.  Can  Government  give  you  thatV  They 
can  shut  the  public-houses  at  twelve — what  more  can 
they  do?  But  you — you  do  not  know  how  to  enjoy 
yourselves.  You  don't  know  what  to  do.  You  can't 
play  music,  nor  sing,  nor  paint,  nor  dance — you  can  do 
nothing.  You  get  no  pleasure  out  of  life,  and  you 
won't  get  it — even  by  abolishing  everything. 

"  Take  that  simple  question  of  a  holiday.  We  take 
ours,  like  the  fools  we  are,  all  in  droves,  by  thousands 
and  millions,  on  bank  holiday's.  Why  do  wc  do  that? 
Why  do  we  not  insist  on  having  our  holidays  at  differ- 
ent times  in  the  year,  without  these  monstrous  crowds 
which  render  enjoyment  impossible?  And  why  do  we 
not  demand — what  is  granted  to  every  little  quill-driv- 
ing clerk  in  the  city — our  fortnight  every  j^ear  with 
nothing  to  do,  and  drawing  full  pay?  That  is  one  of 
your  Avants,  and  you  don't  know  it.  The  reform  of  the 
land  laws,  my  brothers,  will  not  bring  you  one  inch 
nearer  getting  this  want." 

At  this  point  the  chairman  nodded  his  head  approv- 
ingly. Perhaps  he  had  never  before  realized  how  all 
his  life  he  had  neglected  the  substance  and  swallowed 
the  shadow.  The  old  man  sat  listening  patiently  with 
his  head  in  his  hands.  Never  before  had  any  workman 
— any  one  of  his  own  class — spoken  like  this  young  fel- 
low, who  talked  and  looked  like  a  swell — though  they 
knew  him  for  what  he  was.  Pleasure !  Yes — he  had 
never  consisted  that  life  might  have  its  delights.  Yet, 
what  delights? 

"There  is  another  thing,-  and  the  blackest  of  all." 
Harry  paused  a  moment :  but  the  men  were  listening, 
and  now  in  earnest. 

"  I  mean  the  treatment  of  your  girls — your  sisters 
and  3'our  daughters !  Men,  you  have  combined  together 
and  made  j'our  unions  for  yourselves — you  have  forced 
upon  your  employers  terms  which  nothing  but  combi- 
nation would  have  compelled  them  to  accept.  You  are 
paid  twice  what  you  received-  twenty  years  ago.  You 
go  in  broadcloth — you  are  well  fed.     You  have  money 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  273 

in  3-our  pocket.  But  you  have  clean  forgotten  the 
girls. 

•'  Think  of  the  girls. 

"  They  have  no  protection  but  a  Government  act  for- 
bidding more  than  ten  hours'  work.  Who  cares  for 
a  Government  act?  It  is  defied  daily.  Those  who 
frame  these  acts  know  very  well  that  the}'  are  power- 
less to  maintain  them ;  because,  my  friends,  the  power 
is  with  the  people — you.  If  you  resolve  that  an  act 
shall  become  a  law,  you  make  it  so.  Everything,  in 
the  end,  is  by  the  people  and  through  the  people. 

"  You  have  done  nothing  for  your  girls — you  leave 
them  to  the  mercies  of  employers,  who  have  got  to  cut 
down  expenses  to  the  last  farthing.  They  are  paid 
starvation  wages.  They  are  kept  in  unwholesome 
rooms.  The}'  are  bound  to  the  longest  hours.  They 
are  oppressed  with  fines.  The  girls  grow  up  narrow- 
chested,  stooping,  consumptive — they  are  used  up 
wholesale.  And  what  do  j'ou  do  for  them.  Nothing. 
There  are  girls  and  women  in  this  hall :  can  any  one  of 
them  here  get  up  and  say  that  the  working-men  have 
raised  a  finger  for  them? 

"  The  worst  charge  any  man  can  bring  against  j'ou 
is  that  you  care  nothing  for  your  girls. 

"  Why,  it  is  only  the  other  day  that  a  Dressmakers' 
Association  has  been  opened  among  you — 3'ou  all  know 
where  it  is.  You  all  know  what  it  tries  to  do  for  the 
girls.  Yet,  what  single  man  among  you  has  ever  had 
the  pluck  to  stand  up  for  his  sisters  who  are  working 
in  it?" 

Then  Harry  stepped  right  to  the  edge  of  the  platform 
and  spread  out  his  hands,  changing  his  voice. 

"You  are  good  fellows,"  he  said,  "and  you've  given 
me  fair  play.  There  isn't  a  country  in  the  world,  ex- 
cept Ireland,  where  I  could  have  had  this  fair  play. 
Don't  misunderstand  me — I  tell  you,  and  I  don't  think 
you  knew  it  before,  that  the  time  has  come  when  the 
people  should  leave  off  caring  much  about  the  Govern- 
ment, or  expecting  an}'  good  thing  for  themselves  from 
any  government;  because  it  can't  be  done  in  that  way. 
You  must  find  out  for  yourselves  what  you  want,  and 
then  you  must  have  that  done.  You  must  combine  for 
these  things  as  you  did  for  wages,  and  vou  will  get 
18 


274  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

them.  And  if  you  spend  half  the  energy  in  working 
for  yourselves  that  you  have  spent  in  working  for 
things  that  do  j'ou  no  good  you  will  he  happy  indeed. 

"Your  politics,  I  say  again,  will  do  nothing  for  you 
— do  you  hear — nothing  at  all ;  but  yours  is  the  power. 
Let  us  repeat  it  again  and  again — all  the  power  is  yours. 
Try  what  Government  can  do.  Send  Dick  Copj)in  into 
Parliament — he's  a  clever  chap — and  tell  him  to  do  what 
he  can  for  j'ou.  He  will  do  nothing.  Therefore,  work 
for  yourselves,  and  by  yourselves.  Make  out  what  3'ou 
Avant,  and  resolve  to  have  it — nobody  can  prevent  3'ou. 
The  world  is  3'ours  to  do  what  you  like  with.  Here  in 
England,  as  in  America,  the  working-man  is  master — 
provided  the  working-man  knows  what  he  wants.  The 
first  thing  you  want,  I  reckon,  is  good  lodging.  The 
second,  is  good  food.  The  third  is  good  drink — good, 
unadulterated  beer,  and  plenty  of  it.  The  fourth  is 
good  and  sensible  education.  The  fifth  is  holiday  and 
pleasure;  and  the  last,  which  is  also  the  first,  is  justice 
for  our  girls.  But  don't  be  fools.  I  have  been  among 
you  in  this  club  a  good  many  times.  It  goes  to  my 
heart  every  time  I  come  to  see  so  many  clever  men  and 
able  men  wasting  their  time  in  grievances  which  don't 
hurt  them,  when  they  aj-e  surrounded  by  a  hundred 
grievances  which  they  have  only  to  perceive  in  order  to 
sweep  them  awa3^ 

"  I  am  a  Radical,  like  yourselves ;  but  I  am  a  Social 
Radical.  As  for  your  political  jaw,  it  plaj's  the  game 
of  those  who  use  you.  Politics  is  a  game  of  lying  ac- 
cusations and  impossible  promises.  The  accusations 
make  j'ou  angry — the  promises  make  you  hopeful.  But 
you  get  nothing  in  the  long  run ;  and  j^ou  never  wilL 
Because — promise  what  they  inay — it  is  not  laws  or 
measures  that  will  improve  our  lot;  it  is  by  our  own 
resolution  that  it  shall  be  improved.  Hold  out  your 
hands  and  take  the  things  that  are  offered  j^ou — every- 
thing is  yours  if  you  like  to  have  it.  You  are  in  a 
beautiful  garden  filled  with  fruits,  if  you  care  to  pick 
them ;  but  you  do  not.  You  lie  grubbing  in  the  mud, 
and  crying  out  for  what  will  do  j^ou  no  good.  Voices 
are  calling  to  3'ou — they  offer  you  such  a  life  as  was 
never  yet  conceived  by  the  lordliest  House  of  Lords — 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  275 

a  life  full  of  work,  and  full  of  pleasure.     But  you  don't 
hear — you  are  deaf.     You  are  blind — you  are  ignorant." 

He  stopped ;  a  hoarse  shout  g-reeted  his  peroration. 
Harry  wondered  for  a  moment  if  this  was  applause  or 
disapproval.  It  was  the  former.  Then  one  man  rose 
and  spoke. 

''Damn  him!"  he  cried.  Yet  the  phrase  was  used 
in  no  condemnatory  spirit;  as  when  a  mother  addresses 
her  boy  as  a  naughty  little  rogue-pogue.  "  Damn  him ! 
He  shall  be  our  next  member." 

"No,"  said  Harry,  clapping  his  cousin  on  the  shoul- 
der, "  here  is  your  next  member ;  Dick  Coppin  is  3'our 
b( )y .  He  is  clever — he  is  am bitious.  Tell  him  what  you 
want,  and  he'll  get  it  for  3-0U  if  any  one  can.  But,  O 
men!  find  out  what  you  want,  and  have  it.  Yours 
— yours — yours  is  the  power.  You  are  the  masters 
of  the  world.  Leave  the  humbug  of  Radicalism,  and 
Liberalism,  and  Torjism.  Let  dead  politics  bury  their 
dead — learn  to  look  after  your  own  interests.  You  are 
the  kings  and  lords  of  humanit3^  The  old  kings  and 
lords  are  no  more — they  are  swept  away!  They  are 
only  shadows  of  the  past.  With  you  are  the  sceptre 
and  the  crown.  You  sit  upon  the  throne,  and  when 
you  know  how  to  reign,  3'ou  shall  reign  as  never  5-et 
king  was  known  to  reign;  hut  Jirst  find  out  what  you 
wauf." 

He  lightly  leaped  from  the  platform  and  stepped  down 
the  hall — he  had  said  his  say,  and  was  going.  The 
men  laughed  and  shouted — half  angry,  half  pleased, 
but  wholly  astonished ;  and  Dick  Coppin,  with  a  burn- 
ing cheek,  sat  humiliated  yet  proud  of  his  cousin. 

At  the  door  Harry  met  Miss  Kennedy,  with  Captain 
Sorensen  and  Xell)\ 

"We  have  heard  j'our  speech,"  said  Angela,  with 
brightened  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks.  "  Oh,  what  did  I 
tell  you?  You  can  speak,  you  can  persuade;  j^ou  can 
lead.  What  a  career — what  a  career  lies  before  the 
man  who  can  persuade  and  lead !" 


276  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE     FIGUREHEADS. 

It  was  Sundaj'  morning,  after  breakfast,  and  Harry 
was  sitting  in  the  boarding-liouse  common  room,  si- 
lently contemplating  his  two  fellow-boarders,  Josephus 
and  Mr.  Maliphant.  The  circle  at  Bormalack's  was 
greatly  broken  up.  Not  to  speak  of  the  loss  of  the  il- 
lustrious pair,  Daniel  Fagg  had  now  taken  to  live  en- 
tirely among  the  dressmakers,  except  in  the  evenings, 
when  their  music  and  dancing  drove  him  away ;  in  fact, 
he  regarded  the  place  as  his  own,  and  had  so  far  for- 
gotten that  he  took  his  meals  there  by  invitation  as  to 
criticise  the  dinners,  which  were  always  good,  although 
plain,  and  to  find  fault  with  the  beer,  which  came 
from  Messenger's.  Miss  Kennedy,  too,  only  slept  at 
the  boarding-house,  though  b}'  singular  forgetfulness 
she  always  paid  the  landlady  every  Saturday  morning 
in  advance  for  a  week's  board  and  lodging.  Therefore 
Josephus  and  the  old  man  for  the  most  part  sat  in  the 
room  alone,  and  were  excellent  company,  because  the 
ill-used  junior  clerk  never  wanted  to  talk  with  an^^- 
body,  and  the  aged  carver  of  figureheads  never  wanted 
a  listener. 

Almost  for  the  first  time  Harry  considered  this  old 
man,  the  rememberer  of  fag-ends  and  middle-bits  of 
anecdote,  with  something  more  than  a  passing  curiosity 
and  a  sense  of  irritation  caused  by  the  incongruity  of 
the  creature.  You  know  that  whenever  you  seriously 
address  j'ourself  to  the  study  of  a  person,  however  in- 
significant in  appearance,  that  person  assumes  an  im- 
portance equal  to  anj-  lord.  A  person,  you  see,  is  an 
individual,  or  an  indivisible  thing.  Wherefore,  let  us 
not  despise  our  neighbor.  The  ancient  Mr.  Maliphant 
was  a  little,  thin  old  man,  with  a  few  gray  haii"S  left, 
but  not  many ;  his  face  M^as  inwrapped,  so  to  speak,  in 
a  pair  of  verj-  high  collars,  and  he  wore  a  black  silk 
stock,  not  very  rusty,  for  he  had  been  in  the  reign  of 
the  fourth  George  a  dapper  young  fellow,  and  possessed 
a  taste  in  dress  beyond  the  lights  of  Limehouse.     But 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  277 

this  was  in  his  nautical  days,  and  before  he  developed  his 
natural  genius  for  carving  ship's  figureheads.     He  had 
no  teeth  left,  and  their  absence  great!}-  shortened  the 
space  between  nose  and  chin,  which  produced  an  odd 
elfect;  he  was  closely  shaven;  his  face  was  all  covered 
over  like  an  ocean  with  innumerable  wrinkles,  crows- 
feet,   dimples,   furrows,   valleys,   and  winding    water- 
courses, which  showed  like  the  universal  smile  of  an  ac- 
curate map.     His  forehead,  when  the  original  thatch 
was  thick,  must  have  been  rather  low  and  weak;   his 
eyes  were  still  bright  and  blue,  though  they  wandered 
wliile  he  talked ;    when  he  was  silent  they  had  a  far-off 
look ;  his  eyebrows,  as  often  happens  with  old  men,  had 
grown  bushy  and  were  joined  across  the  bridge ;    when 
his  memory  failed  him,  which  was  freauently  the  case, 
they  frowned  almost    as  terribly  as  those  of    Daniel 
Fagg;  his  figure  was  spare  and  his  legs  thin,  and  he  sat 
on  one  side  of  the  chair  with  his  feet  twisted  beneath 
it;  he  never  did  anything,  except  to  smoke  one  pipe  at 
night ;  he  never  took  the  least  notice  of  anybody ;  when 
he  talked,   he  addressed  the  whole  company,  not  any 
individual;  and  he  was  affected  by  no  man's  happiness 
or  suffering.     He  had  lived  so  long  that  he  had  no  more 
sympathy  left;  the  world  was  nothing  more  to  him;  he 
had  no  further  interest  in  it ;  he  had  gone  bevond  it 
and  out  of  it ;    he  was  so  old  that  he  had  not  a  friend 
left  who  knew  him  when  he  was  young ;  he  lived  apart ; 
he  was,  perforce,  a  hermit. 

Harry  remembered,  looking  upon  this  survival,  that 
the  old  man  had  once  l)etrayed  a  knowledge  of  his  fa- 
tlier  and  of  the  early  history  of  the  Coppin  and  Messen- 
ger families.  He  wondered  now  why  he  had  not  tried 
to  get  more  out  of  him.  It  would  be"^a  familv  chronicle 
of  small  beer,  but  there  could  be  nothing,'^  probablv, 
very  disagreeable  to  learn  about  the  career  of  the  late 
sergeant,  his  father,  nor  anything  painful  about  the 
course  of  the  Coppins.  On  this  Sunday  morning,  when 
the  old  man  looked  as  if  the  cares  of  the  week  were  off 
his  mind,  his  memory  should  be  fresh— clearer  than  on 
a  week-day. 

In  the  happy  family  of  boarders,  none  of  whom  pre- 
tended to  take  the  least  interest  in  each  other,  nobody 
ever  spoke  to  Mr.  Maliphant,  and  nobody  listened  when 


278  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

lie  sj^oke,  except  Mrs.  Bormalack,  who  was  bound  by 
rules  of  politeness,  or  took  the  least  notice  of  his  coming 
or  his  going ;  nobody  knew  how  he  lived  or  what  he 
paid  for  his  board  and  lodging,  or  anything  else  about 
him.  Once,  it  was  certain,  he  had  been  in  the  mercan- 
tile marine.  Now  he  had  a  "yard;"  he  went  to  his 
yard  every  day ;  it  was  rumored  that  in  this  5"ard  he 
carved  figureheads  all  day  for  large  sums  of  money ;  he 
came  home  in  the  evening  in  time  for  supper;  a  fra- 
grance, as  of  rum  and  water,  generally  accompanied 
him  at  tliat  time ;  and  after  a  pipe  and  a  little  more 
grog,  and  a  few  reminiscences  chopped  up  in  bits  and 
addressed  to  the  room  at  large,  the  old  fellow  would  re- 
tire for  the  night.  A  perfectly  cheerful  and  harmless 
old  man,  yet  not  companionable. 

"  Did  you  know  my  father,  Mr.  Maliphant?"  asked 
Harry,  by  way  of  opening  up  the  conversation.  "  He 
was  a  sergeant,  you  know,  in  the  army." 

Mr.  Maliphant  started  and  looked  bewildered;  he  had 
been,  in  imagination,  somewhere  off  Cape  Horn,  and  he 
could  not  get  back  at  a  moment's  notice.  It  irritated 
him  to  have  to  leave  his  old  friends. 

"Your  father,  young  gentleman?"  he  asked  in  a 
vexed  and  trembling  quaver.  "  Did  I  know  your  fa- 
ther? Pray,  sir,  how  am  I  to  know  that  you  ever  had 
a  father?" 

"  You  said,  the  other  day,  that  you  did.  Think  again. 
My  father,  you  know,  married  Caroline  Coppin." 

"Ay,  ay — Caroline  Coppin — I  remember  Caroline 
Coppin.  Oh,  yes,  sister,  she  was,  to  Bob — when  Bob 
was  third  mate  of  an  East  Indiaman ;  a  devil  of  a  fellow 
was  Bob,  though  but  a  boy,  and  if  living  now,  which 
I  must  misdoubt,  would  be  but  sixty  or  thereabouts. 
Everybody,  young  man,  knew  Bob  Coppin,".  .  .  .  here 
he  relapsed  into  silence.  When  he  spoke  again,  he 
carried  on  aloud  the  subject  of  his  thoughts — "  below 
he  did  his  duty.     Such  a  man,  sir,  was  Bob  Coppin." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Maliphant.  I  seem  to  know  Bob 
quite  well  from  your  description.  And  now  he's  gone 
aloft,  hasn't  he?  And  when  the  word  comes  to  pass  all 
hands,  there  will  be  Bob  with  a  hitch  of  his  trousers 
and  a  kick  of  the  left  leg.     But  about  my  mother." 

"  Young  gentleman,  how  am  I  to  know  that  you  were 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  iMEN.  270 

born  with  a  mother?  Law,  law !  One  might  as  well'"- 


Here  his  voice  dropped  again,  and  he  finished  the  sen- 
tence with  the  silent  motion  of  his  lips. 

"Caroline  Coppin,  you  know;  your  old  friend." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No — oh,  no !  I  knew  her  when  she  was  as  high  as 
that  table.  My  young  friend,  not  my  old  friend,  she 
was.  How  could  she  be  my  old  friend?  She  married 
Sergeant  Goslett,  and  he  went  out  to  India  and — and — 
something  happened  there.  PerhajDS  he  was  cast  away. 
As  manj'  get  cast  away  in  those  seas. " 

"Is  that  all  you  can  remember  about  her?" 

"I  can  remember,"  said  the  old  man,  "a  wonderful 
lot  of  things  at  times.  You  mustn't  ask  any  man  to 
remember  all  at  once.  Not  at  his  best,  you  mustn't, 
and  I  doubt  I  am  hardly  at  what  j^ou  ma}"  call  my  tip- 
top ripest — yet.  Wait  a  bit,  young  man ;  wait  a  bit. 
I've  been  to  a  many  ports  and  carved  figureheads  for  a 
many  ships,  and  they  got  cast  away,  one  after  the  other, 
but  dear  to  memory  still,  and  paid  for.  Like  Sergeant 
Goslett.  A  handsome  man  he  was,  with  curly  brown 
hair,  like  yours,  young  gentleman.  I  remember  how 
he  sang  a  song  in  this  very  house  when  Caroline — or 
was  it  her  sister? — had  it,  and  I  forget  whether  it  was 
Bunker  maiTied  her  sister  or  after  Caroline's  babj^  was 
born,  which  was  when  the  child's  father  was  dead.  A 
beautiful  evening  we  had. " 

Caroline's  hahy,  Harry  surmised,  was  himself. 

"  Where  was  Caroline's  baby  born?"     Harry  asked. 

"Where  should  he  be?  Why,  o'  course,  in  his 
mother's  own  house." 

"  Why  should  he  be  born  in  his  mother's  own  house? 
I  did  not  know  that  his  mother  had  a  house." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  pity. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "you  know  nothing.  Your 
ignorance  is  shameful." 

"But  why?" 

"Enough  said,  young  gentleman,"  replied  Mr.  Mali- 
phant  with  dignity.  "  Enough  said :  youth  should  not 
sport  with  age ;  it  doth  not  become  gray  hairs  to — to " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  except  to  himself,  but 
what  lie  did  say  was  something  emphatic  and  improv' 
ing,  because  he  shook  his  head  a  good  deal  over  it. 


280  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOAS  OF  MEN. 

Presentl}"  he  got  up  and  left  the  room.  Harry- 
watched  him  getting  his  hat  and  tying  his  muffler  about 
his  neck.  When  things  were  quite  adjusted  the  old 
man  feebly  tottered  down  the  steps.  Harry  took  his 
hat  and  followed  him. 

"May  I  walk  with  j'ou,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"  Surely,  surely !"  Mr.  Maliphant  was  surprised.  "  It 
is  an  unusual  thing  for  me  to  have  a  companion. 
Formerly  they  came — ah — all  the  way  from  Rotherhithe 
to — to — sing  and  drink  Mdth  me." 

"  Will  you  take  my  arm?"     Harry  asked. 

The  little  old  man,  who  wore  black  trousers  and  a 
dress-coat  out  of  respect  of  the  day,  but,  although  the 
month  was  December,  no  great-coat — in  fact  he  had 
never  worn  a  great-coat  in  all  his  life — was  trotting 
along  with  steps  which  showed  weakness,  but  manifest 
intention.  Harry  wondered  where  he  meant  to  go. 
He  took  the  proffered  arm,  however,  and  seemed  to  get 
on  better  for  the  support. 

"Are  you  going  to  church,  sir,"  asked  Harry,  when 
they  came  opposite  the  good  old  church  of  Stepney, 
with  its  vast  acres  of  dead  men,  and  heard  the  bells 
ringing. 

"  No,  young  gentleman ;  no,  certainly  not.  I  have 
more  important  business  to  look  after," 

He  quickened  his  steps,  and  they  left  the  church  be- 
hind them. 

"Church?"  repeated  Mr.  Maliphant  with  severity. 
"  When  there's  property  to  look  after  the  bells  may  ring 
as  loud  as  they  please.  Church  is  good  for  paupers  and 
rliurch- wardens.  Where  would  the  property  be,  do  you 
think,  if  I  were  not  on  the  spot  everyday  to  protect  it?" 

He  turned  off  the  High  Street  into  a  short  street  of 
small  houses  neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  thou- 
sands of  houses  around :  it  was  a  cul-de-sac,  and  ended 
in  a  high  brick  wall,  with  a  large  gateway  in  the 
middle,  and  square  stone  pillars,  and  a  ponderous  pair 
of  wooden  gates,  iron-bound  as  if  they  guarded  things 
of  the  greatest  value.  There  was  also  a  small  wicket 
beside  it,  which  the  old  man  carefully  unlocked  and 
opened,  looking  round  to  see  that  no  burglars  followed. 

Harry  saw  within  a  tolerably  large  yard,  in  the 
middle  of  Avhich  was  a  little  house  of  one  room.     The 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  281 

house  was  a  most  wonderful  structure ;  it  was  built  ap- 
parently of  packing-cases  nailed  on  four  or  eight  square 
posts ;  it  was  furnished  with  a  door,  a  window,  and  a 
chimney,  all  complete;  it  was  exactly  like  a  doll's  house, 
only  that  it  was  rather  larger,  being  at  least  six  feet 
high  and  eight  feet  square.  The  house  was  painted 
green;  the  roof  was  painted  red;  the  door  blue;  there 
was  also  a  brass  knocker;  so  that  in  other  respects  it 
was  like  a  doll's  house. 

"  Aha !"  cried  the  old  man,  rul)bing  his  hands  and 
pointing  to  the  house.  "  I  built  it,  young  man.  That 
is  my  house,  that  is ;  I  laid  the  foundations ;  I  put  up 
the  w^alls ;  I  painted  it.  And  I  ver}-  well  remember 
when  it  was.  Let  me  see.  Mr.  Messenger,  who  was  a 
younger  man  than  me  by  four  years,  married  in  that 
year,  or  lost  his  son — I  forget  which" — (his  voice  low- 
ered, and  he  went  on  talking  to  himself).  "Caroline's 
grandfather  went  bankrupt  in  the  building  trade;  or 
her  father  perhaps,  who  afterward  made  money  and  left 
houses.  And  here  I  am  still.  This  is  my  property, 
young  gentleman,  and  I  come  here  every  day  to  execute 
orders.  Oh !  yes" —  he  looked  about  him  in  mild  kind 
of  doubt — "  I  execute  orders.  Perhaps  the  orders  don't 
come  in  so  thick  as  they  did.  But  here  I  am — ready 
for  work — always  ready,  and  I  see  my  old  friends,  too, 
aha!  They  come  as  thick  as  ever,  bless  you,  if  the 
orders  don't.  Quite  a  gathering  in  here  some  days." 
Harry  shuddered,  thinking  who  these  old  friends  might 
be.  "  Sundaj-s  and  all  I  come  here,  and  they  come  too. 
A  merry  company !" 

The  garrulous  old  man  opened  the  door  of  the  little 
house.  Harry  saw  that  it  contained  a  cupboard  with 
some  simple  cooking  utensils,  and  a  fireplace,  where 
the  proprietor  began  to  make  a  hre,  and  one  chair,  and 
a  little  table,  and  a  rack  with  tools ;  there  were  also  one 
or  two  pipes  and  a  tobacco  jar. 

He  looked  about  the  yard.  A  strange  place,  indeed! 
It  was  adorned,  or  rather  furnished,  with  great  ships' 
figureheads,  carved  in  wood,  standing  in  rows  and 
circles,  some  complete,  some  lialf-finished,  some  just 
b(>gun;  so  that  here  was  a  Lively  Peggj'  with  rudi- 
mentary features  just  emerging  from  her  native  wood, 
and  here  a  Saucj-  Sal  of  Wapping  still  clothed  in  oak 


283  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEX. 

up  to  her  waist ;  and  here  a  Neptune,  his  crowned  head 
only  as  yet  indicated,  though  the  weather-beaten  ap- 
pearance of  his  wood  showed  that  the  time  was  long 
since  he  was  begun ;  or  a  Father  Thames,  his  god-like 
face  as  yet  showing  like  a  blurred  dream.  Or  there 
were  finished  and  perfect  heads,  painted  and  gilded, 
waiting  for  the  purchaser  who  never  came.  They  stood, 
or  sat — whichever  a  head  and  shoulder  can  be  said  to 
do — with  so  much  pride,  each  so  rejoicing  in  himself, 
and  so  disdainful  of  his  neighbor,  in  so  haughty  a  si- 
lence that  they  seemed  human  and  belonging  to  the  first 
circles  of  Stepney ;  Harry  thought,  too,  that  they  eyed 
him  curiously,  as  if  he  might  be  the  long-exj)ected  ship- 
owner come  to  buy  a  figurehead. 

"  Here  is  property,  young  man !"  cried  the  old  man ; 
he  had  lit  his  fire  now  and  came  to  the  door,  craning  for- 
ward and  sjireading  his  hands,  "  Look  at  the  beauties. 
There's  truth !  There's  exjjression !  Mine,  your g  man, 
all  mine.  Hundreds — thousands  of  pounds  here,  to  be 
protected." 

"  Do  5^ou  come  here  every  day?"  Harry  asked. 

"  Every  day.     The  property  must  be  looked  after. " 

"And  do  you  sit  here  all  day  by  3'ourself?" 

"  Wh}^,  who  else  should  I  sit  with?  And  a  man  like 
me  never  sits  alone.  Bless  your  heart,  young  gentle- 
man, of  a  morning  when  I  sit  before  the  fire  and  smoke 
a  pipe,  this  room  gets  full  of  people.  They  crov.'d  in, 
they  do.  Dead  people,  I  mean,  of  course.  I  know 
more  dead  men  than  living.  They're  the  best  com- 
pany, after  all.     Bob  Coppin  comes,  for  one." 

Harry  began  to  look  about,  wondering  whether  the 
ghost  of  Bob  might  suddenly  appear  at  the  door.  On 
the  whole  he  envied  the  old  man  his  company  of  de- 
parted friends. 

"So  you  talk, "  he  said ;  "you  and  the  dead  people?" 
By  this  time  the  old  man  had  got  into  his  chair  and 
Harry  stood  in  the  doorwa}^,  for  there  really  was  not 
room  for  more  than  one  in  the  house  at  the  same  time, 
to  say  nothing  of  inconveniencing  and  crowding  the 
merry  company  of  ghosts. 

"  You  wouldn't  believe,"  said  the  old  man,  "the  talks 
we  have  nor  the  yarns  we  spin,  when  we're  here  to- 
gether." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  283 

"It  must  be  a  jovial  time,"  said  Harry.  "Do  they 
drink  y" 

Mr,  Maliphant  screwed  up  his  lips  and  shook  his  head 
mysterioTisly. 

"jSTot  of  a  morning,"  he  replied,  as  if  in  the  evening 
the  old  rollicking  customs  were  still  kept  up. 

"  And  you  talk  about  old  times — eh?" 

"  There's  nothing  else  to  talk  about,  as  I  know." 

"  Certainly  not.  Sometimes  you  talk  about  my — 
about  Caroline  Coppin's  father,  I  suppose.  I  mean  the 
one  who  made  money,  not  the  one  who  went  bank- 
rupt." 

"  HousevS, "  said  Mr.  Maliphant ;  "  houses  it  was. " 

"  Oh !" 

"  Twelve  houses  there  were,  all  his  own.  Two  sons 
and  two  daughters  to  divide  among.  Bob  Coppin  sold 
his  at  once — Bunker  bought  'em — and  we  drank  up  the 
money  down  Poplar- way,  him  and  me  and  a  few  friends 
together,  in  a  friendly  and  comfortable  spirit.  A  fine 
time  we  had,  I  remember.  Jack  Coppin  was  in  his 
father's  trade  and  he  lost  his  money ;  speculated,  he 
did.  Builders  are  a  believin'  people.  Bunker  got  his 
houses  too. " 

"Jack  was  my  cousin  Dick's  father,  I  suppose,"  said 
Harr}',  "  Go  ahead,  old  boy.  The  family  history  is 
reeling  on  beautifully.  Where  did  the  other  houses 
go?" 

But  the  old  man  had  gone  ol¥  on  another  tack.  "  There 
were  inore  Coppins,"  he  said.  "When  I  was  a  boy,  to 
be  a  Coj^pin  of  Stepney  was  a  thing  of  pride.  Jo- 
sephus'  father  was  church- ward  en,  and  held  up  his 
head." 

"Did  he,  really?" 

"  If  I  hadn't  the  property  to  look  after,  I  would  show 
5'ou  liis  tombstone  in  Stepney  church-yard." 

"  That,"  said  Harry,  "  would  be  a  great  happiness  for 
me.     As  for  Caroline  Coppin,  now " 

"She  was  a  pretty  maid,  she  was,"  the  old  man  went 
on.  "  I  saw  her  born  and  brought  up.  And  she  mar- 
ried a  sojer." 

"  I  know,  and  her  three  houses  were  lost,  too,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  Why  sliould  her  houses  bo  lost,  young   man?"   Mr. 


284  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Maliphant  asked  with  severity.  "Houses  don't  run 
away.  This  property  doesn't  run  away.  When  she 
died  she  left  a  bab}-,  she  did,  and  when  the  baby  was 
took — or  was  stolen — or  something — Bunker  said  those 
houses  were  his.  But  not  lost.  You  can't  lose  a 
house.  You  may  lose  a  figurehead."  He  got  up  and 
looked  outside  to  see  if  his  were  safe.  "  Or  a  big  drum. 
But  not  a  house." 

"  Oh !"  Harry  started.  "  Bunker  said  the  hoLises  were 
his,  did  he?" 

"  Of  course  he  did." 

"  And  if  the  bab}'  had  not  died,  those  houses  would 
still  be  the  property  of  that  baby,  I  suppose." 

But  Mr.  Maliphant  made  no  reply.  He  was  now  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  the  intoxication  produced  by  his 
morning-pipe,  and  was  sitting  in  his  arm-chair  with 
his  feet  on  the  fender,  disposed,  apparentl}^  for  silence. 
Presently  he  began  to  talk,  as  usual,  to  himself.  Nor 
could  he  be  induced,  by  a  y  leading  questions,  to  re- 
member anything  more  of  the  things  which  Harry 
wanted  him  to  remember.  But  he  let  his  imagination 
wander.  Gradually  the  room  became  filled  with  dead 
people,  and  he  was  talking  with  them.  Nor  did  he 
seem  to  know  that  Harry  was  with  him  at  all. 

Harry  slipped  quietly  away,  shutting  the  door  after 
him,  so  that  the  old  man  might  be  left  quite  alone  with 
the  ghosts. 

The  yard,  littered  with  wood,  crowded  with  the  fig- 
ureheads, all  of  which  seemed  turning  inquiring  and 
jealous  ej'es  upon  the  stranger,  was  silent  and  ghostly. 
Thither  came  the  old  man  every  day,  to  sit  before  the 
tire  in  his  little  red-and-green  doll's  house,  to  cook  his 
own  beefsteak  for  himself,  to  drink  his  glass  of  grog 
after  dinner,  to  potter  about  among  his  carved  heads,  to 
talk  to  his  friends  the  ghosts,  to  guard  his  propert}^, 
and  to  execute  the  orders  which  never  came.  For  the 
shipbuilders  who  had  employed  old  Mr.  Maliphant  were 
all  dead  and  gone,  and  nobody  knew  of  his  yard  any 
more,  and  he  had  it  all  to  himself.  The  tide  of  time 
had  carried  away  all  his  friends  and  left  him  alone;  the 
memory  of  him  among  active  men  was  gone;  no  one 
took  any  more  interest  in  him,  and  he  liad  ceased  to 
care  for  anything :  to  look  back  was  his  only  pleasure. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  285 

No  one  likes  to  die  at  any  time,  but  who  would  wish  to 
grow  so  old? 

And  those  houses.  Why,  if  the  old  man's  memory 
was  right,  then  Bunker  had  simply  appropriated  his 
property.  Was  that,  Harr}^  asked,  the  price  for  which 
he  traded  the  child  awa}'? 

He  went  straight  away  to  his  cousin  Dick,  who, 
mindful  of  the  recent  speech  at  the  club,  was  a  little 
disposed  to  be  resentful.  It  fortunateh'  takes  two  to 
make  a  quarrel,  however,  and  one  of  those  two  had  no 
intention  of  a  family  row. 

"  Never  mind,  Dick,"  he  said  in  answer  to  an  allusion 
to  the  speech.  "  Hang  the  club.  I  want  to  ask  you 
about  something  else.  Now,  then.  Tell  me  about  your 
grandfather. " 

"  I  cannot.  He  died  before  I  can  remember.  He 
was  a  builder." 

"  Did  he  leave  property?" 

"  There  were  some  houses,  I  believe.  My  father  lost 
his  share,  I  know.      Speculated  it  away." 

"  Your  uncle  Bob.      What  became  of  his  share?" 

"  Bob  was  a  worthless  chap.  He  drank  everything, 
so  of  course  he  drank  up  his  houses." 

"  Then  we  come  to  the  two  daughters.  Bunker  mar- 
ried one,  and  of  course  he  got  his  wife's  share.  What 
became  of  my  mother's  share?" 

"  Indeed,  Harry,  I  do  not  know." 

"Who  would  know?" 

"Bunker  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  you  all  about  it. 
Of  course  he  knows." 

"Dick,"  said  Harry,  "should  you  be  astonished  to 
learn  that  the  respectable  uncle  Bunker  is  a  mighty 
great  rogue?  But  say  nothing,  Dick.  Say  nothing. 
Let  me  consider  how  to  bring  the  thing  home  to  him." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

THE  professor's  PROPOSAL. 

When  the  professor  called  upon  Angela  that  same 
Sunday  morning  and  requested  an  interview,  she  per- 
ceived that  something  serious  was  intended.  He  had 
on,  as  if  for  an  occasion,  a  new  coat  with  a  flower  in 


286  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

the  buttonhole,  a  chrysanthemum.  His  face  M^as  ex- 
tremely solemn,  and  his  fingers,  which  alwaj's  seemed 
restless  and  dissatisfied  unless  they  were  making  things 
disappear  and  come  again,  were  quite  still. 

Certainly,  he  had  something  on  his  mind. 

The  drawing-room  had  one  or  two  girls  in  it,  who 
were  reading  and  talking,  though  they  ought  to  have 
been  in  church — Angela  left  their  religious  duties  to 
their  own  consciences.  But  the  dining-room  was  empty 
and  the  interview  was  held  there. 

The  professor  had  certainly  made  up  in  his  own 
mind  exactly  what  was  going  to  be  said :  he  had  dram- 
atized the  situation — a  ver}'  good  plan  if  3'ou  are  quite 
sure  of  the  replies ;  otherwise,  you  are  apt  to  he  put  out. 

"Miss  Kennedy,"  he  began,  with  a  low  voice,  "allow 
me,  first  of  all,  to  thank  3'ou'  for  your  great  kindness 
during  a  late  season  of  depression." 

"I  am  very  glad  it  is  a  late  season,"  said  Angela; 
"  that  means,  I  presume,  that  the  depression  has  passed 
away." 

"Quite,  I  am  glad  to  say;  in  fact,"  the  professor 
laughed  cheerfull}',  "  I  have  got  engagements  from  now 
to  nearly  the  end  of  April  in  the  country,  and  am  in 
treaty  for  a  West- End  engagement  in  May.  Industry 
and  application,  not  to  speak  of  talent,  will  make  their 
way  in  the  long  run.  But  I  hope  I  am  none  the  less 
grateful  to  j^ou  for  your  loan — let  me  call  it  a  loan — 
when  things  were  tight.  I  assure  you,  Miss  Kennedy, 
that  the  run  into  the  country,  after  those  parish  regis- 
ters, was  as  good  as  a  week's  engagement,  simple  as 
it  looked,  and  as  for  that  Saturday  night  for  your 
girls " 

"  O  Professor,  we  were  agreed  that  it  should  appear 
to  be  given  b}"  you  for  nothing." 

"  ISTever  mind  what  it  was  agreed.  You  know  very 
well  what  was  paid  for  it.  Now,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
that  night's  performance  and  that  little  trip  into  the 
country,  I  verily  believe  they  would  have  had  to  send 
for  a  nice  long  box  for  me — a  box  that  can't  be  palmed, 
and  I  should  have  gone  off  in  it  to  a  country  where 
perhaps  they  don't  care  for  conjuring." 

"  In  that  case,  professor,  I  am  very  glad  to  have  been 
of  help." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  287 

"And  so,"  be  went  on — following  the  programme  lie 
had  laid  down  in  his  own  mind—"  And  so  1  came  here 
to-day  to  ask  if  your  interest  in  conjuring  could  be 
stimulated  to  a  professional  height." 

"Really,  I  do  not  know.  Professional?  You 
mean " 

"  Anybody  can  see  that  3'ou've  showed  an  interest  in 
the  subject  beyond  what  is  expected  or  found  in  wom- 
en. What  I  came  here  to-day  for  is  to  ask  whether  you 
like  the  conjurer  well  enough  to  take  to  conjuring';'" 

Angela  laughed  and  was  astonished,  after  being  told 
by  Daniel  Fagg  that  he  would  honor  her  by  making 
her  his  wife,  but  for  certain  reasons  of  age.  Now,  hav- 
ing became  hardened,  it  seemed  but  a  small  thing  to 
receive  the  offer  of  a  conjurer,  and  the  proposal  to  join 
the  profession. 

"  I  think  it  must  be  the  science,  professor, "  she  said ; 
"yes,  it  must  be  the  science  that  I  like  so  much.  Not 
the  man  who  exhibits  his  skill  in  the  science.  Yes,  I 
think  of  your  admirable  science. " 

"Ah,"  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  "j^ou  are  quite  right, 
miss ;  science  is  better  than  love.  Love !  What  sort  of 
a  thing  is  that,  when  you  get  tired  of  it  in  a  month? 
But  science  fills  up  all  3'our  life:  people  are  always 
learning — always. " 

"  I  am  so  glad,  professor,  that  I  can  agree  with  you 
entirely." 

"Which  makes  me  bolder,"  he  said,  "because  we 
could  bo  useful  to  each  other,  without  pretending  to  be 
in  love,  or  any  nonsense  of  that  sort." 

"  Indeed.  Now,  I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  be  useful 
to  3'ou  without,  as  you  saj',  any  foolish  pretence  or 
nonsense." 

"  The  way  is  this:  yon  can  play,  can't  \'0u?" 

"Yes." 

"And  sing?" 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  ever  dance  in  tights?" 

"No,  i  never  did  that." 

"Ah,  well — it's  a  pity;  but  one  can't  expect  every- 
thing. And  no  doubt  you'd  take  to  it  easy.  They  all 
do.  Did  you  ever  sing  on  the  stage — at  a  music-hall,  I 
mean?" 


288  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  ]\IEN. 

"No;  I  never  did." 

"  There  was  a  chap — but  I  suppose  he  was  a  liar — 
said  you  used  to  siug  under  an  electric  light  at  the  Can- 
ter bary,  with  a  character  dance,  and  a  topical  song, 
and  a  kick-up  at  the  finish." 

"Yes,  professor.  I  think  that  'chap'  must  certainly 
be  written  down  a  liar.     But  go  on." 

"  I  told  him  he  was,  and  he  offered  to  fight  me  for 
half  a  crown.  When  1  said  I'd  do  it,  and  willingly,  for 
a  bob,  he  went  away.  I  think  he's  the  fellow  Harry 
Goslett  knocked  down  one  night.  Bunker  put  him  up 
to  it.  Bunker  doesn't  like  you.  Never  mind  him. 
Look  here,  now." 

"  I  am  looking  as  hard  as  I  can." 

"  There's  some  things  that  bring  the  money  in,  and 
some  that  don't.     Dressmaking  don't;  conjurin'  does." 

"  Yet  you  yourself,  professor " 

"Why,"  he  asked,  "because  I  am  only  four-and- 
twenty,  and  not  much  known  as  j'et.  Give  me  time; 
wait.  Lord !  to  see  the  clumsy  things  done  by  the  men 
who've  got  a  name.  And  how  they  go  down ;  and  a 
child  would  spot  the  dodge !  Now,  mark  my  words — 
if  3"ou  go  in  with  me,  there's  a  fortune  in  it." 

"  For  3'our  sake,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it ;  but  it  must  be 
without  me." 

"  It  is  for  your  sake  that  I  tell  you  of  it." 

He  was  not  in  love  at  all.  Love  and  science  have 
never  yet  really  composed  their  differences;  and  there 
was  not  the  least  dropping  of  his  voice,  or  any  sign  of 
passion  in  his  speech. 

"  For  your  sake,"  he  repeated.  "  Because,  if  you  can 
be  got  to  see  your  way  as  I  see  it,  there's  a  fortune  for 
both  of  us." 

"  Oh !" 

"  Yes :  now,  miss,  listen.  Conjuring,  like  most 
things,  is  makin'  believe  and  deceivin'.  What  we  do 
is,  to  show  you  one  thing  and  to  do  another.  The  only 
thing  is,  to  do  it  so  quick  that  it  shan't  be  seen  even  by 
the  few  men  who  know  how  it  is  done.  No  woman  yet 
was  ever  able  to  be  a  conjurer,  which  is  a  rum  thing, 
because  their  fingers  do  prettj'  for  music,  and  lace- 
work,  and  such.  But  for  conjurin',  they  haven't  the 
mind.     You  want  a  man's  brain  for  such  work." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  289 

"  I  have  always,"  said  Angela,  "felt  what  pQor,  weak 
things  we  are,  compared  witli  men." 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  continued  the  professor  gallantly. 
"  But  you  do  have  your  uses  in  the  world — most  things 
have.  Now,  as  a  confederate  or  assistant,  there's  no- 
body like  a  woman.  They  do  what  the}'  are  told  to  do. 
They  are  faithful  over  the  secrets.  They  learn  their 
place  on  the  platform  and  they  stay  there.  Some  pro- 
fessors carry  about  a  boy  with  them.  But  you  can't 
place  any  real  trust  in  a  bo)' ;  he's  always  up  to  tricks, 
and  if  you  wallop  him — likely  as  not,  next  night  he'll 
take  and  spoil  jour  best  trick  out  of  revenge.  Some 
have  a  man  to  help,  but  then  he  learns  the  secrets  and 
tries  to  cut  you  out;  but  with  a  woman  j'ou're  always 
pretty  safe.  A  daughter's  best;  because  then  you 
pocket  all  the  money  3-ourself .  But  a  wife  is  next  best 
so  long  as  she  keeps  steady  and  acts  on  the  square." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  before, "  said  Angela,  "  but  I 
suppose  it  is  as  you  say,  and  the  real  object  for  which 
women  were  created  must  have  been  the  assistance  of 
conjurers." 

"  Of  course, "  said  the  professor,  failing  to  see  the 
delicate  sarcasm  of  this  remark — "of  course.  What 
better  thing  could  they  do?  Why,  here  you  sit  slaving 
all  day  long,  and  all  the  year  round ;  and  what  are  you 
the  better  for  it?  A  bare  living — that's  all  you  get  out 
of  it.  Whether  you  go  into  shops,  behind  a  bar,  or 
into  the  workroom,  it's  the  same  story — a  bare  living. 
Look  at  the  conjurin'  line  now:  you  live  in  splendor; 
j'ou  go  on  the  stage  in  a  most  beautiful  costume — silks 
and  satins,  gold  and  spangles ;  tights,  if  you  like.  You 
travel  about  the  country  free.  You  hear  the  people 
clapping  their  hands  whenever  you  go  in ;  and  believ- 
in'  that  you  do  it  all  yourself.  You've  got  nothing  to 
do  but  just  what  you  are  told,  and  that's  your  life — 
with  pockets  full  of  money,  and  the  proud  consciousness 
that  you  are  making  5'our  fortune." 

"  It  certainly  seems  very  beautiful  to  look  at ;  are 
there  no  drawbacks?" 

"None,"  answered   the   enthusiast.     "It's   the    best 

profession    in    the    world  —  there's    no    danger   in    it. 

There's  no  capital  required.    All  it  wants  is  cleverness. 

That's  why  I  come  to  you ;  because  you  are  a  real  clever 

19 


290  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

girl,  and  what's  more,  j'ou're  good-looking — it  is  not 
always  that  looks  and  brains  go  together." 

"Very  well,  professor.  Let  us  come  to  the  point — 
what  is  it  you  want  me  to  doV" 

"  I  want  you.  Miss  Kennedy,  to  go  about  the  country 
with  me.  You  shall  be  my  assistant;  you  shall  plaj' 
the  piano,  and  come  on  dressed  in  a  pink  costume — 
which  generally  fetches  at  an  entertainment.  Nothing 
to  say;  and  I  will  teach  you  by  degrees  all  the  dodges, 
and  the  way  it's  done  you  will  learn.  You'll  be  sur- 
prised when  you  find  how  easy  it  is,  and  yet  how  you 
can't  do  it.  And  when  you  hear  the  people  telling 
what  they  saw,  and  you  know  just  exactly  what  they 
could  have  seen  if  they'd  had  their  eyes  in  their  heads, 
you'll  laugh — you  will." 

"  But  I'm  afraid  I  can't  think " 

"  Don't  raise  difficulties,  now,"  he  spoke  persuasively. 
"  I  am  coming  to  them  directly.  I've  got  ideas  in  my 
head  which  I  can't  carry  through  without  a  real,  clever 
confederate.  And  you  must  be  that  confederate.  Elec- 
tricity: now" — he  lowered  his  voice,  and  whispered — • 
"none  of  the  conjurers  have  got  a  battery  at  work. 
Think  of  new  feats  of  marvel  and  magic  never  before 
considered  possible;  and  done  secret  by  electricity. 
What  a  shame — what  a  cruel  shame,  to  have  let  the 
world  get  hold  of  electricity !  Why,  it  ought  to  have 
been  kept  for  conjurers.  And  telephones — again,  what 
a  scope  there  is  in  a  good  telephone !  You  and  me  to- 
gether. Miss  Kennedy,  could  knock  up  an  entertainment 
as  nobody  ever  yet  dreamed  of.  If  yow  could  dance  a 
bit  it  would  be  an  advantage.  But,  if  you  won't,  of 
course,  we  must  give  it  up.  And,  as  to  the  dressmak- 
ing rubbish,  why  in  a  week  you  will  be  wondering  how 
in  the  world  you  ever  came  to  waste  your  time  upon  it 
at  all,  while  such  a  chance  was  going  about  in  the 
world.  Not  that  I  blame  you  for  it;  not  at  all.  It  was 
your  ignorance  kept  you  out  of  it,  and  your  good  luck 
threw  you  in  the  way  of  it." 

"  That  may  be  so.     But  still,  I  am  not  sure " 

"I  haven't  done  yet.  Look  here!  I've  been  turning 
the  thing  over  in  my  own  mind  a  good  bit.  The  only 
way  I  can  think  of  for  such  a  girl  as  you  to  go  about 
the  country  with  a  show  is  for  you  to  be  married  to  the 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  291 

showman — so  I'll  marry  you  before  we  start,  and  then 
we  shall  he  comfortable  and  happy,  and  read}'  for  the 
fortune  to  come  in.  And  you'll  be  quite  sure  of  your 
share  in  it." 

"  Thank  3'ou,  professor." 

"  Very  good,  then ;  no  need  for  thanks.  I've  got  en- 
gagements in  the  country  for  over  three  months.  We'll 
marry  at  once,  and  you  can  spend  that  time  in  learn- 
ing." 

Angela  laughed.  Were  women  of  "her  class,"  she 
thought,  so  easily  won,  and  so  unceremonious!}^  wooed? 
Were  there  no  preliminary  advances,  soft  speeches, 
words  of  compliment  and  flattery? 

"I've  been  laying  out  a  plan,"  the  professor  went  on, 
"  for  the  most  complete  thing  you  ever  saw !  Never  be- 
fore attempted  on  any  stage !  Marvelous  optical  illu- 
sion. Hush — electricity !"  [He  said  this  in  a  stage 
whisper.]  "  You  are  to  be  a  fairy.  Stale  old  business, 
isn't  it?  But  it  always  pays.  Silk  stockin 'sand  gauze, 
with  a  wand.  I'm  Sinbad  the  Sailor,  or  Robinson 
Crusoe.     It  doesn't  matter  what;  and  then  3'ou " 

"  Stay  a  moment,  professor" — she  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  arm — "  you  have  not  waited  for  my  answer.  I  can- 
not, unfortunately,  marry  you ;  nor  can  I  go  about  the 
countr}'  with  j'ou;  nor  can  I  possibly  become  your  con- 
federate and  assistant." 

"You  can't  marry  me?  Why  not,  when  I  offer  you 
a  fortune?" 

"Not  even  for  fortune." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  for  many  reasons.  One  of  them  is  that  I 
cannot  leave  mj-  dressmaking — rubbish,  as  it  seems  to 
you.     That  is,  indeed,  a  sufficient  reason." 

"  Oh !" — his  face  becoming  sad — "  and  I  set  my  heart 
upon  it  I  The  very  first  time  I  saw  you  I  said  to  my- 
self, 'There's  a  girl  for  the  business — never  was  such 
a  girl!'  And  to  think  you're  thrown  away  on  a  dress- 
making business.  Oh!  it's  too  bad!  and  that  you're 
contented  with  your  lot,  humble  as  it  is,  when  I  offer 
to  make  you  an  artist,  and  to  give  you  a  fortune. 
That's  what  cuts  me  to  the  quick — that  you  should  be 
contented." 

"I  am  very  much  ashamed  of  myself,''  said  Angela, 


292  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

with  contrition ;  "  but,  you  see,  ^yhat  you  ask  is  impos- 
sible." 

"And  I  only  made  up  my  mind  last  night  that  I 
would  marry  you,  if  nothing  else  would  do." 

"  Did  you — poor  professor !  I  am  quite  sorry  for 
you ;  but  you  should  never  marrj^  a  woman  unless  you 
are  in  love  with  her.  Now  it's  quite  clear  that  you  are 
not  in  love  with  me." 

*'  Love !     I've  got  my  work  to  think  of." 

"  Then  good-morning,  professor.  Let  us  part  friends, 
if  I  cannot  accept  your  offer." 

He  took  her  offered  hand  with  reluctance,  and  in  sor- 
row more  than  in  anger. 

"Do  you  really  understand,"  he  asked, "what  you  are 
throwing  away?     Fame  and  fortune — nothing  less." 

She  laughed,  and  drew  back  her  hand,  shaking  her 
head. 

"  Oh,  the  woman's  a  fool !"  cried  the  professor,  losing 
his  temper,  and  slamming  the  door  after  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CAPTAIN   COPPIN. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Tom  Coppin,  Captain  Cop- 
pin  of  'the  Salvation  Army,  paid  his  only  visit  to  An- 
gela, that  visit  that  caused  so  much  sensation  among 
the  girls. 

He  chose  a  quiet  evening  early  in  the  week.  "Why 
he  came  has  never  been  quite  clear.  It  was  not  curi- 
osity, for  he  had  none ;  nor  was  it  a  desire  to  study  the 
kind  of  culture  which  Angela  had  introduced  among 
her  friends,  for  he  had  no  knowledge  of,  or  desire  for, 
culture  at  all.  Nor  does  the  dressmakers'  workshop 
aft'ord  a  congenial  place  for  the  exercise  of  that  soldier's 
gifts.  He  came,  perhaps,  because  he  was  passing  on 
his  wa}"  from  a  red-hot  pra3^er  meeting  to  a  red-hot 
preaching,  and  he  thought  he  would  see  the  place  which 
among  others,  the  Advanced  Club  for  instance,  was 
keeping  his  brother  from  following  in  his  own  steps, 
and  helping  him  to  regard  the  world,  its  pleasures  and 
pursuits,  with  ej'es  of  affection.     One  knows  not  what 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN  293 

he  expected  to  find  or  what  he  proposed  by  going  there, 
because  the  things  he  did  find  completely  upset  all  his 
expectations,  if  he  had  any.  Visions,  perhaps,  of  the 
soul-destroying  dance,  and  the  red  cup,  and  the  loud 
laughter  of  fools,  and  the  talk  that  is  as  the  crackling 
of  thorns,  were  in  his  mind. 

The  room  was  occupied,  as  usual,  with  the  girls,  An- 
gela among  them.  Captain  Sorensen  was  there  too; 
the  girls  were  quieth^  busy,  for  the  most  part,  over 
"  their  own"  work,  because,  if  they  would  go  fine,  they 
must  make  their  own  fineries ;  it  was  a  frosty  night, 
and  the  fire  was  burning  clear ;  in  the  most  comfortable 
chair  beside  it  sat  the  crippled  girl  of  whom  we  know ; 
the  place  was  hers  by  a  sort  of  right ;  she  was  gazing 
into  the  flames,  listening  lazily  to  the  music — Angela 
had  been  playing — and  doing  nothing,  with  content- 
ment. Life  was  so  sweet  to  the  child  when  she  was 
not  suffering  pain,  and  was  warm,  and  was  not  hungry, 
and  was  not  hearing  complaints,  that  sl»e  wanted  noth- 
ing more.  Nelly,  for  her  part,  sat  with  hands  folded 
pensively,  and  Angela  w-ondered  what,  of  late  days,  it 
was  that  seemed  to  trouble  her. 

^  Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  a  man,  dressed  in  a 
tight  uniform  of  dark  cloth  and  a  cap  of  the  same,  with 
"  S.  S."  upon  it,  like  the  Lord  Mayor's  gold  chain,  stood 
before  them. 

He  did  not  remove  his  cap,  but  he  looked  round  the 
ro(5m,  and  presently  called  in  a  loud,  harsh  voice. : 

"  Which  of  you  here  answers  to  the  name  of  Ken- 
nedy?" 

"I  do,"  replied  Angela;  "my  name  is  Kenned3^ 
What  is  yours,  and  why  do  you  coine  here?" 

"  My  name  is  Coppin.  My  work  is  to  save  souls.  I 
tear  them  out  of  the  yqtj  clutches  and  claws  of  the 
devil ;  I  will  have  them ;  I  leave  them  no  peace  luitil  I 
have  won  them ;  I  cry  aloud  to  them ;  I  shout  to  them ; 
I  pray  for  them ;  I  sing  to  them ;  I  seek  them  out  in 
their  hiding-places,  even  in  their  dens  and  courts  of 
sin;  there  are  none  too  far  gone  for  my  work;  none 
that  I  will  let  go  once  I  get  a  grip  of  them;  once  my 
hand  is  on  them  out  they  must  come  if  the  devil  and  all 
his  angels  were  pulling  them  the  other  way.  For  my 
strength  is  not  of  myself ;  it  is " 


294  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"But  wh}'  do  you  come  here?"  asked  Angela. 

The  man  had  the  same  black  hair  and  bright  eyes  as 
his  brother;  the  same  strong  voice,  although  a  long 
course  of  street-shouting  had  made  it  coarse  and 
rough ;  but  his  ej'es  Avere  brighter,  his  lips  more  sensi- 
tive, his  forehead  higher ;  he  was  like  his  brother  in  all 
respects,  jei  so  unlike  that,  while  the  Radical  had  the 
face  of  a  strong  man,  the  preacher  had  in  his  the  inde- 
finable touch  of  weakness  which  fanaticism  always 
brings  with  it.  Whatever  else  it  was,  however,  the 
face  w^as  that  of  a  man  terribly  in  earnest. 

"I  have  heard  about  j'ou,"  he  said.  "You  are  of 
those  who  cry  peace  when  there  is  no  peace ;  you  entice 
the  5'oung  men  and  maidens  who  ought  to  be  seeking 
pardon  and  j^reaching  repentance,  and  you  destroy  their 
souls  with  dancing  and  music.  I  come  here  to  tell  you 
that  you  are  one  of  the  instruments  of  the  devil  in  this 
wicked  town." 

"  Have  you  really  come  here,  jMr.  Coppin,  on  purpose 
to  tell  me  that?" 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  is  part  of  my  message." 

"Do  you  think,"  asked  Angela,  because  this  was  al- 
most intolerable,  "  that  it  is  becoming  a  preacher  like 
3'ourself  to  invade  a  quiet  and  private  house  in  order  to 
insult  a  woman?" 

"Truth  is  not  insult,"  he  said.  "I  come  here  as  I 
would  go  to  a  theatre  or  a  singing-hall  or  any  soul- 
destroj^ng  place.  You  shall  hear  the  plain  tnith. 
With  3'our  music  and  5^our  dancing  and  your  pleasant 
ways,  you  are  corrupting  the  souls  of  many.  My 
brother  is  hardened  in  his  unrepentance  since  he  knew 
you.  My  cousin  goes  on  laughing,  and  dances  over 
the  verv  pit  of  destruction,  through  you.  These 
girls ^" 

"Oh!"  cried  Rebekah,  who  had  no  sympathy  w^ith 
the  Salvation  Armj^,  and  felt  herself  an  authority  when 
the  religious  question  was  touched,  "  they  are  all  mad. 
Let  him  go  awa^^" 

"I  would,"  replied  the  captain,  "that  you  were  half 
as  mad.  Oh !  I  know  you  now ;  I  know  you  snug  pro- 
fessors of  a  Saturday  religion " 

"Your  mission,"  Angela  interrupted,  "is  not,  I  am 
sure,  to  argue  about  another  sect.      Come,  Mr.  Coppin, 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  29r) 

now  that  you  have  told  us  who  you  are  and  what  is  3'our 
profession  and  why  you  come  here,  you  might  like  to 
preach  to  us.  Do  so,  if  you  will.  We  were  sitting 
here  quietly  when  you  came,  and  you  interrujjt  noth- 
ing. So  that,  if  it  would  really  make  you  feel  any  hap- 
pier, you  may  preach  to  us  for  a  few  minutes." 

He  looked  about  him  in  hesitation.  This  kind  of 
preaching  was  not  in  his  line:  he  loved  a  vast  hall  with 
a  thousand  faces  looking  at  him ;  or  a  crowd  of  turbu- 
lent roughs  ready  to  answer  the  Message  with  a  volley 
of  brickbats;  or  a  chance  gathering  of  unrepentant  sin- 
ners in  a  wide  thoroughfare.  He  could  lift  up  his 
voice  to  them ;  but  to  preach  in  a  quiet  room  to  a  dozen 
girls  was  a  new  experience. 

And  it  was  not  the  place  which  he  had  expected. 
His  brother,  in  their  last  interview,  had  thrown  in  his 
teeth  this  house  and  its  doings  as  offering  a  more  rea- 
sonable solution  of  life's  problems  than  his  own.  "  You 
want  ever3"body,"  he  said,  "to  join  you  in  singing  and 
preaching  every  day ;  what  should  we  do  when  there 
was  nobod}^  left  to  preach  at?  Now,  there,  what  they 
say  is,  'Let  us  make  ourselves  comfortable.'  There's  a 
deal  in  that,  come  to  think  of. 

"  Look  at  those  girls  now :  while  you  and  your  Happy 
Elizas  are  trampin'  in  the  mud  with  your  flag  and  your 
procession,  and  gettin'  black  eyes  and  brickbats,  they 
are  singin'  and  laughin'  and  dancin',  and  makin'  what 
fun  they  can  for  themselves.  It  seems  to  me,  Tom, 
that  if  this  kind  of  thing  gets  fashionable  you  and  your 
army  will  be  played  out." 

Well,  he  had  come  to  see  this  place,  which  had  of- 
fered pleasure  instead  of  repentance,  as  a  method  of 
improving  life.  They  were  not  laughing  and  singing 
at  all;  there  were  no  men  present  except  one  old  gentle- 
man in  a  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons.  To  be  sure,  he 
had  a  fiddle  lying  on  a  chair  beside  him.  There  was 
no  indication  whatever  of  the  red  cup,  and  no  smell  of 
tobacco.  Now,  pleasure  without  drink,  tobacco,  and 
singing  had  been  in  Tom's  unregenerate  days  incom- 
prehensible. "I  would  rather,"  said  Dick,  "see  an 
army  of  IVIiss  Kennedy's  girls  than  an  army  of  Hallelu- 
jah Polls."  Yet  they  seemed  perfectly  quiet.  "Make 
'em  happy,  Tom,  first,"  said  Dick,  who  was  still  think- 


296  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

ing  over  Harry's  speech  as  a  possible  point  of  depar- 
ture. Happiness  is  not  a  word  in  the  dictionary  of  men 
like  Tom  Coppin ;  they  know  what  it  means ;  they  know 
a  spree ;  they  understand  drink ;  they  know  miserj^  be- 
cause it  is  all  round  them — the  misery  of  hunger,  of 
disease,  of  intemperance,  of  dirt,  of  evil  temper,  of  vio- 
lence; the  misery  which  the  sins  of  one  bring  all,  and 
sins  of  all  upon  each.  Indeed,  we  need  not  go  to 
Whitechapel  to  find  out  misery.  But  they  know  not 
happiness.  For  such  as  Captain  Coppin  there  is,  as 
an  alternative  for  miserj",  the  choice  of  glory.  What 
they  mean  by  glory  is  ecstasy,  the  rapture,  the  myste- 
ries of  emotional  religion ;  he,  the}^  believe,  is  the  most 
advanced  who  is  most  often  hysterical ;  Dick,  like  many 
of  his  followers,  yearned  honestly  and  unselfishly  to  ex- 
tend this  raptiu'e  which  he  himself  so  often  enjoyed : 
but  that  there  should  be  any  other  wa}'  out  of  the  mis- 
ery save  by  way  of  the  humble  stool  of  conviction,  was 
a  thing  which  he  could  not  understand.  Happiness, 
calm,  peace,  content,  the  sweet  enjoyment  of  innocent 
recreation — these  things  he  knew  nothing  of;  they  had 
not  come  his  way. 

He  had  come ;  he  had  seen ;  no  doubt  the  moment  his 
back  was  turned  the  orgy  would  begin.  But  he  had 
delivered  his  message :  he  had  warned  the  young  wom- 
an who  had  led  the  girls — that  calm,  cold  woman  who 
looked  at  him  with  curiosity  and  was  so  unmoved  by 
what  he  said :  he  might  go.  With  his  whole  heart  he 
had  spoken  and  had  so  far  moved  no  one  except  the 
daughter  of  the  Seventh-Day  Independent — and  her  only 
a  little.  This  kind  of  thing  is  verj-'  irritating.  Sup- 
pose you  were  to  put  a  red-hot  poker  into  a  jug  of  water 
without  producing  any  steam  or  hissing  at  all,  how, 
as  a  natural  philosopher,  would  3'ou  feel? 

"You  may  preach  to  us,  if  you  like,"  said  Miss  Ken- 
nedy. 

She  sat  before  him,  resting  her  chin  upon  her  hand. 
He  knew  that  she  was  beautiful,  although  women  and 
their  faces,  graces,  and  sweet  looks  played  no  part  at 
all  in  his  thoughts.  He  felt,  without  putting  the  thing 
into  words,  that  she  was  beautiful.  Also,  that  she  re- 
garded him  with  a  kind  of  contempt,  as  well  as  curios- 
ity ;■  also,  that  she  had  determined  not  to  be  moved  by 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  297 

anything  he  might  say;  also,  that  she  relied  on  her 
own  inliuence  over  the  girls.  And  he  felt  for  a  moment 
as  if  his  trusty  arms  were  dropping  from  his  hands  and 
his  whole  armor  was  slipping  from  his  shoulders.  ISTot 
her  beauty;  no,  fifty  Helens  of  Troy  would  not  have 
moved  this  young  apostle ;  but  her  position  as  an  im- 
pregnable outsider.  For  against  the  curious  outsider, 
who  regard  captains  in  the  Salvation  Army  only  as  so 
many  interesting  results  of  growing  civilization,  their 
officers  are  powerless  indeed. 

If  there  is  any  real  difference  between  the  working- 
man  of  England  and  the  man  who  does  other  work,  it 
is  that  the  former  is  generally  emotional  and  the  latter 
is  not.  To  the  man  of  emotion  things  cannot  be  stated 
too  strongly ;  his  leader  is  he  wlio  has  the  greatest  com- 
mand of  adjectives ;  he  is  singularly  open  to  the  charm 
of  eloquence ;  he  likes  audacity  of  statement ;  he  likes 
to  be  moved  by  wrath,  pity,  and  terror ;  he  has  no  eye 
for  shades  of  color;  and  when  he  is  most  moved  he 
thinks  he  is  most  right.  It  is  this  which  makes  him 
so  angry  with  the  people  who  cannot  be  moved. 

Angela  was  one  of  those  persons  who  cannot  be 
moved  by  the  ordinary  methods.  She  looked  at  Tpm 
as  if  he  was  some  strange  creature,  watching  what  he 
did,  listening  to  what  he  said,  as  if  she  was  not  like 
unto  him.  It  is  not  quite  a  fair  way  of  describing  An- 
gela's attitude  of  mind ;  but  it  is  near  enough ;  and  it 
represents  what  passed  through  the  brain  of  the  Salva- 
tion captain. 

_  "  Will  you  preach  to  us?"  she  repeated  the  third 
time. 

He  mechanically  opened  his  hymn-book, 

"Number  three  hundred  and  sixty-two,"  he  said 
quietly. 

He  sang  the  hj-mn  all  by  himself,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  so  that  the  windows  rattled,  to  one  of  those  rous- 
ing and  popular  melodies  which  hare  been  pressed  into 
the  service  of  the  army ;  it  was,  in  fact,  "  Molly  Dar- 
ling," and  the  people  at  Stepney  Green  asked  each  other 
in  wonder  if  a  meeting  of  the  Salvation  Armv  was 
actually  being  held  at  Miss  Kennedy's. 

When  he  had  finished  his  hymn  he  began  to  preach. 

He  stammei-ed  at  first,  because  the  surroundings  were 


298  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  2IEX. 

strange;  besides,  the  cold,  curious  eyes  of  Miss  Ken- 
nedy chilled  him.  Presently,  however,  he  recovered 
self-possession,  and  began  his  address. 

There  is  one  merit,  at  least,  possessed  by  these  preach- 
ers; it  is  that  of  simplicity.  Whatever  else  they  may 
be,  they  are  always  the  same;  even  the  words  do  not 
vary  while  there  is  but  one  idea. 

If  you  want  to  influence  the  dull  of  comprehension, 
such  as  the  common  donkey,  there  is  but  one  way  pos- 
sible. He  cannot  be  led,  or  coaxed,  or  persuaded;  he 
must  be  thwacked.  Father  Stick  explains  and  makes 
apparent,  instantly,  what  the  logic  of  all  the  schools 
has  failed  to  prove.  In  the  same  way,  if  you  wish  to 
awaken  the  spiritual  emotions  among  people  who  have 
hitherto  been  strange  to  them,  your  chance  is  not  by 
argument,  but  by  appeals,  statements,  prophecies, 
threats,  terrors,  and  pictures,  which,  in  fact,  doexactlj^ 
correspond,  and  produce  the  same  effect  as  Father 
Stick ;  they  are  so  many  knock-down  blows ;  they  be- 
labor and  they  terrif3^ 

The  preacher  began :  the  girls  composed  themselves 
to  listen,  with  the  exception  of  Rebekah,  who  went  on 
with  her  work  ostentatiously,  partly  to  show  her  disap- 
proval of  such  irregular  proceedings  and  j^artly  as  one 
who,  having  got  the  truth  from  an  independent  source, 
and  being  already  advanced  in  the  narrow  way,  had  no 
occasion  for  the  captain's  persuasion. 

It  is  one  thing  to  hear  the  voice  of  a  street  preacher  in 
his  own  church,  so  to  speak,  that  is,  on  the  curbstone, 
and  quite  another  thing  to  hear  the  same  man  and  the 
same  person  in  a  quiet  room.  Tom  Coppin  had  only 
one  sermon,  though  he  dressed  it  up  sometimes,  but  not 
often,  in  new  words.  Yet  he  was  relieved  of  monot- 
ony by  the  earnestness  which  he  poured  into  it.  He 
believed  in  it,  himself ;  that  goes  a  long  way.  Angela 
began  by  thinking  of  the  doctrine,  but  presently  turned 
her  attention  to  the  preacher,  and  began  to  think  Avhat 
manner  of  man  he  was.  Personally  he  was  pale  and 
thin,  with  strong  black  hair,  like  his  brother,  and  his 
eyes  were  singularly  bright. 

Here  was  a  man  of  the  people:  self-taught;  pro- 
foundlj"  ignorant  as  to  the  many  problems  of  life  and 
its  solutions;  filled,  however,  v\ith  that  noble  sympathy 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  299 

which  makes  prophets,  poets,  martyrs;  wholly  pos- 
sessed of  faith  in  his  narrow  creed,  owning  no  author- 
ity of  church  or  priest ;  helieving  himself  under  direct 
Divine  guidance,  chosen  and  called,  the  instrument  of 
merciful  Heaven  to  drag  guilty  souls  from  the  pit ;  con- 
sciously standing  as  a  servant,  da}'"  and  night,  before  a 
Throne  which  other  men  regard  afar  off  or  cannot  see 
at  all;  actually  living  the  life  of  hardship,  privation, 
and  ill-treatment,  which  he  preached;  for  the  sake  of 
others,  enduring  hardness,  poverty,  contumely;  taking 
all  these  things  as  part  and  parcel  of  the  day's  work; 
and,  in  the  name  of  duty,  searching  into  corners  and 
holes  of  this  great  town  for  the  vilest,  the  most  hard- 
ened, the  most  depraved,  the  most  blinded  to  a  higher 
life. 

This,  if  3'ou  please,  is  not  a  thing  to  be  laughed  at. 
What  did  Wesley  more?  What  did  Whitfield?  Nay, 
what  did  Paul? 

They  paid  him  for  his  services,  it  is  true ;  they  gave 
him  five-and-tweuty  shillings  a  week;  some  of  this 
great  sum  he  gave  away ;  the  rest  provided  him  with 
poor  and  simple  food.  He  had  no  pleasures  or  joys  of 
life;  he  had  no  recreations;  he  had  no  hope  of  any 
pleasures ;  some  of  the  officers  of  his  army — being  men 
and  women  as  well  as  preachers — loved  each  other  and 
were  married :  but  this  man  had  no  thought  of  any  such 
thing,  he,  as  much  as  any  monk,  was  vowed  to  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Master,  without  rest  or  holiday,  or  an}-  other 
joy  than  that  of  doing  the  work  that  lay  before  him. 

A  great  pity  and  sympathy  filled  Angela's  heart  as 
she  thought  of  these  things. 

The  man  before  her  was  for  the  moment  a  prophet ; 
it  mattered  nothing  that  his  creed  was  narrow,  his 
truths  only  half  truths,  his  doctrine  commonplace,  his 
language  in  bad  taste,  his  manner  vulgar ;  the  faith  of 
the  man  covered  up  and  hid  these  defects;  he  had  a 
message  to  mankind;  he  was  delivering  that  message; 
to  him  it  was  a  fresh,  new  message,  never  before  in- 
trusted to  any  man ;  he  had  to  deliver  it  perpetually, 
even  though  he  went  in  starvation. 

Angela's  heart  softened  as  she  realized  the  loyalty  of 
the  man.  He  saw  the  softening  in  her  eyes  and 
thought  it  was  the  first  sign  of  conviction. 


300  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

But  it  was  not. 

Meantime,  if  Angela  was  thinking  of  the  preacher, 
the  girls,  of  course  with  the  exception  of  Rebekah, 
were  trembling  at  his  words. 

Suddenly — the  unexpected  change  was  a  kind  of  rhe- 
torical trick  which  often  proved  effective — the  preacher 
ceased  to  denounce  and  threaten,  and  spoke  of  pardon 
and  peace ;  he  called  upon  them  in  softer  voice,  in  ac- 
cents full  of  tears  and  love,  to  break  down  their  pride, 
to  hear  the  voice  that  called  them.  .  .  .  We  know  well 
enough  what  he  said,  only  we  do  not  know  how  he  said 
it.  Angela  looked  about  the  room.  The  Captain  sat 
with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  his  face  dutifully 
lifted  to  the  angle  which  denotes  attention;  his  expres- 
sion was  unmoved ;  evidently,  the  captain  was  not  open 
to  conviction.  As  for  the  girls,  they  might  be  divid- 
ed into  classes.  They  had  all  listened  to  the  threats 
and  the  warnings,  though  they  had  heard  them  often 
enough  before ;  now,  however,  some  of  them  seemed  as 
if  thoy  were  impatient,  and  as  if  with  a  little  encour- 
agement they  could  break  into  scoffing.  But  others 
were  crying,  and  one  or  two  were  steadfastly  regarding 
the  speaker,  as  if  he  had  mesmerized  them.  Among 
these  was  Nelly.  Her  eyes  were  fixed,  her  lips  were 
parted,  her  breathing  was  quick,  her  cheek  was  pale. 

Great  and  wonderful  is  the  power  of  eloquence ;  there 
are  few  orators ;  this  ex-printer,  this  uneducated  man 
of  the  ranks  was,  like  his  brother,  born  with  the  gift 
that  is  so  rare.  He  should  have  been  taken  away  and 
taught,  and  kept  from  danger,  and  properly  fed  and 
cared  for.  And  now  it  is  too  late.  They  said  of  him 
in  his  connection  that  he  was  blessed  in  the  saving  of 
souls :  the  most  stubborn,  the  most  hardened,  when  they 
fell  under  the  magic  of  his  presence  and  his  voice,  were 
broken  and  subdued;  what  wonder  that  a  weak  girl 
should  give  waj^? 

When  he  paused  he  looked  round ;  he  noted  the  faces 
of  those  whom  he  had  mesmerized ;  he  raised  his  arm ; 
he  pointed  to  Nelly  and  beckoned  her,  without  a  word, 
to  rise. 

Then  the  girl  stood  up  as  if  she  could  not  choose  but 
obey.  She  moved  a  step  toward  him ;  in  a  moment  she 
would  have  been  at  his  feet,  with  sobs  and  tears,  in  the 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  ^01 

passion  of  self-abasement  which  is  so  dear  to  the  reviv- 
alist. But  Angela  broke  the  spell.  She  sprang  toward 
her,  caught  her  in  her  o^vn  arms,  and  passed  her  hand 
before  her  eves. 

"  Ne% !"  she  said  gently.     "  Is^elly,  dear. " 

The  girl  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands.  But  the  moment  was  gone,  and  Captain 
Coppin  had  lost  his  recruit. 

They  all  breathed  a  deep  sigh.  Those  who  had  not 
been  moved  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed;  those 
who  were,  dried  their  eyes  and  seemed  ashamed. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Angela  to  the  preacher.  "You 
have  preached  very  well,  and  I  hope  your  words  will 
help  us  on  our  way,  even  though  it  is  not  quite  your 
way." 

"  Then  be  of  our  way.     Cease  from  scofifing." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  I  do  not  scoff,  but  I  cannot  join  your  way. 
Leave  us  now,  Mr.  Coppin.  You  are  a  brave  man. 
Let  us  reverence  courage  and  loyalty.  But  we  will 
have  no  more  sermons  in  this  room.     Good-night." 

She  offered  him  her  hand,  but  he  would  not  take  it, 
and  with  a  final  warning,  addressed  to  Angela  in  par- 
ticular and  the  room  in  general,  he  went  as  he  bad 
come,  without  greeting  or  word  of  thanks. 

"  These  Salvation  people, "  said  Rebekah,  "  are  all 
mad.  If  people  want  the  way  of  truth  there's  the 
chapel  in  Redman's  Row,  and  father's  always  in  it 
every  Saturday." 

"What  do  you  say.  Captain  Sorensen?"  asked  An- 
gela. 

"  The  Church  of  England,"  said  the  captain,  who  had 
not  been  moved  a  whit,  "  says  that  two  sacraments  are 
necessary.  I  find  nothing  about  stools  of  repentance. 
Come,  Nelly,  my  girl,  remember  that  you  are  a  Church- 
woman." 

"Yet,"  said  Angela,  "what  are  we  to  say  when  a 
man  is  so  brave  and  true,  and  when  he  lives  the  life? 
Nelly  dear — girls  all — I  think  that  religion  should  not 
be  a  terror  but  a  great  calm  and  a  trust.  Let  us  love 
each  other  and  do  our  work  and  take  the  simple  happi- 
ness that  God  gives,  and  have  faith.     What  more  can 


303  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

we  do?  To-night,  I  think,  we  cannot  dance  or  sing, 
but  I  will  play  to  you." 

She  played  to  them — grand  and  solemn  music — so 
that  the  terror  went  out  of  their  brains,  and  the  hard- 
ening out  of  their  hearts,  and  next  day  all  was  forgot- 
ten. 

In  this  manner  and  this  once  did  Tom  Coppin  cross 
Angela's  path.  Now  he  will  cross  it  no  more,  because 
his  work  is  over.  If  a  man  lives  on  less  than  the  bare 
necessaries  in  order  to  give  to  others ;  if  he  does  the 
Avork  of  ten  men ;  if  he  gives  himself  no  rest  any  day  in 
the  week,  what  happens  to  that  man  when  tj'phus  seizes 
him? 

He  died,  as  he  had  lived,  in  glory,  surrounded  by 
Joj^ful  Jane,  Hallelujah  Jem,  Happy  Polly,  Thankful 
Sarah,  and  the  rest  of  them.  His  life  has  been  narrated 
in  the  "  War  Cry;"  it  is  specially  recorded  of  him  that 
he  was  always  "on  the  mountains,"  which  means,  in 
their  language,  that  he  was  a  man  of  strong  faith,  free 
from  doubt,  and  of  emotional  nature. 

The  extremely  wicked  and  hardened  family,  consist- 
ing of  an  old  woman  and  half  a  dozen  daughters,  for 
whose  soul's  sake  he  starved  himself  and  thereby  fell 
an  easy  prey  to  the  disease,  have  nearly  all  found  a 
refuge  in  the  workhouse,  and  are  as  hardened  as  ever, 
though  not  so  wicked,  because  some  kinds  of  wicked- 
ness are  not  allowed  in  that  place  of  virtue.  Therefore 
it  seems  almost  as  if  poor  Tom's  life  has  been  fooled 
awa}'.  According  to  a  philosophy  which  makes  a 
great  deal  of  noise  just  now,  every  life  is  but  a  shadow, 
a  dream,  a  mocker3%  a  catching  at  things  impossible, 
and  a  waste  of  good  material,  ending  with  the  last 
breath.  Then  all  our  lives  are  fooled  awa.y,  and  why 
not  Tom's  as  well  as  the  rest?  But  if  the  older  way  of 
thinking  is,  after  all,  right,  then  that  life  can  hardly 
have  been  wasted  which  was  freely  given — even  if  the 
gift  was  not  accepted — for  the  advantage  of  others. 
Because  the  memory  and  the  example  remain,  and  e\^- 
ery  example — if  boys  and  girls  could  only  be  taught  this 
copy-book  truth — is  like  an  inexhaustible  horn,  always 
filled  with  precious  seed. 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  2IEN.  303 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 

BUNKER   AT   BAY. 

Harry  was  thinking  a  good  deal  about  the  old  man's 
strange  story  of  the  houses.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  lit- 
tle dependence  to  be  placed  in  the  rambling,  disjointed 
statements  made  by  so  old  a  man.  But,  then,  this  state- 
ment was  so  clear  and  precise.  There  were  so  many 
children — there  were  so  many  houses  (three  for  each 
child),  and  he  knew  exactly  what  became  of  all  those 
houses.  If  the  story  had  been  told  by  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life,  it  could  not  have  been  more  exact  and  de- 
tailed. But  what  were  the  houses — where  were  they? 
And  how  could  he  prove  that  they  were  his  own? 

What  did  Bunker  get  when  he  traded  the  child 
away  ? 

Harry  had  always  been  of  opinion  that  he  got  a  sum 
of  money  down,  and  that  ho  was  now  ashamed  of  the 
transaction,  and  would  fain  have  it  remain  unknown. 
This  solution  accounted,  or  seemed  to  account,  for  his 
great  wrath  and  agitation  when  the  subject  was  men- 
tioned. Out  of  a  mischievous  delight  in  making  his 
uncle  angry,  Harry  frequently  alluded  to  this  point; 
but  the  story  of  the  houses  was  a  better  solution  still. 
It  accounted  for  Mr.  Bunker's  agitation  as  well  as  his 
wrath.  But  his  wrath  and  his  terror  appeared  to  Harry 
to  corroborate  very  strongly  the  old  man's  story.  And 
the  longer  he  thought  about  it  the  more  strongly  he  be- 
lieved it. 

Harry  asked  his  landlady  whether,  in  her  opinion,  if 
Mr.  Maliphant  made  a  statement,  that  statement  was 
to  be  accepted  as  true? 

Mrs.  Bormalack  replied  that  as  he  never  made  any 
statement,  except  in  reference  to  events  long  since 
things  of  the  past,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  say 
whether  they  were  true  or  not;  that  his  memory  was 
clean  gone  for  things  of  the  present — so  that  of  to-day 
and  yesterday  he  knew  nothing;  that  his  thoughts  were 
always  running  on  the  old  days;  and  that  when  he 
could   be  heard    right   through,  without   dropping  his 


304  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

voice  at  all,  he  sometimes  told  very  interesting  and  cu- 
rious things.  His  board  and  lodging  were  paid  for 
him  by  his  grandson,  a  most  respectable  gentleman, 
and  a  dockmaster;  and  that  as  to  the  old  man's  busi- 
ness he  had  none,  and  had  had  none  for  many  years, 
being  clean  forgotten — although  he  did  go  every  day  to 
his  yard,  and  stayed  there  all  day  long. 

Harry  thought  he  would  pay  him  another  visit.  Per- 
haps something  more  would  be  remembered. 

He  went  there  again  in  the  morning. 

The  street,  at  the  end  of  which  was  the  yard,  was  as 
quiet  as  on  the  Sunday,  the  children  being  at  school 
and  the  men  at  work.  The  great  gates  were  closed  and 
locked,  but  the  small  side-door  was  unlocked.  When 
he  opened  it  all  the  figureheads  turned  quickly  and 
anxiously  to  look  at  him.  At  least  Harry  declares  they 
did,  and  Spiritualists  wall  readily  believe  him.  Was 
ho,  they  asked,  going  to  take  one  of  them  away  and 
stick  it  on  the  bow  of  a  great  ship,  and  send  it  up  and 
down  upon  the  face  of  the  ocean  to  the  four  corners  of 
the  world.  Ha !  They  were  made  for  an  active  life. 
They  pined  away  in  this  inactivity.  A  fig  for  the  dan- 
gers of  the  deep !  From  Saucy  Sal  to  Neptune  they  all 
asked  the  same  question  in  the  same  hope.  Harrj' 
shook  his  head,  and  they  sighed  sadly  and  resumed 
sadly  their  former  positions,  as  they  were,  eyes  front, 
waiting  till  night  should  fall  and  the  old  man  should 
go,  and  they  could  talk  with  each  other. 

"This,"  thought  Harry,  "is  a  strange  and  ghostly 
place." 

You  know  the  old  and  creepy  feeling  caused  by  the 
presence,  albeit  unseen,  of  ghosts.  One  may  feel  it 
anywhere  and  at  all  times — in  church,  at  a  theatre,  in 
bed  at  night — by  broad  daylight — in  darkness  or  in  twi- 
light. This  was  in  the  sunshine  of  a  bright  December 
day — the  last  days  of  the  year  1881  were  singularly 
bright  and  gracious.  The  place  was  no  dark  chamber 
or  gloomy  vault,  but  a  broad  and  open  yard,  cheerfully 
decorated  with  carved  figureheads.  Yet,  even  here, 
Harry  experienced  the  touch  of  ghostliness.  The  place 
was  so  strange  that  it  did  not  astonish  him  at  all  to  see 
the  old  man  suddenly  appear  in  the  door  of  his  doll's 
house,  waving  his  hand  and  smiling  cheerily,  as  one 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  305 

who  speeds  tlie  j^arting  guest.  The  salutations  were 
not  intended  for  Harrj-,  because  Mr.  Maliphant  was 
not  looking  at  him. 

Presently  he  ceased  gesticulating,  became  suddenly 
serious  (as  happens  to  one  when  his  friend's  back  is 
turned,  or  he  has  vanished),  and  returned  to  his  seat  bj' 
the  fire. 

Harry  softly  followed,  and  stood  before  him  waiting 
to  be  recognized. 

The  old  man  looked  up  at  last,  and  nodded  his  head. 

"  Been  entertaining  your  friends,  Mr.  Maliphant?" 

"Bob  was  here,  only  Bob.  You  have  just  missed 
Bob,"  he  replied. 

"  That's  a  pity — never  mind.  Can  j^ou,  my  ancient, 
carry  your  memor}^  back  some  twenty  years  ?  You  did 
it,  you  know,  last  Sundaj^  for  me." 

"Twenty  years?  Ay,  ay — twenty  years.  I  Vv^as  only 
sixty-five  or  so  then.  It  seems  a  long  time  until  it  is 
gone — twenty  years !  Well,  young  man,  twenty  years 
—why,  it  is  only  yesterday !" 

"  I  mean  to  the  time  when  Caroline  Coppin,  you  know 
your  old  friend  Caroline,  was  married." 

"  That  was  twenty  years  before,  and  more ;  when 
William  the  Fourth  died  and  Queen  Victoria  (then  a 

young  thing)  came  long  to  reign  over  us "  His  voice 

sank,  and  he  continued  the  rest  of  his  reminiscence  to 
himself. 

"  But  Caroline  Coppin?" 

"  I'm  telling  you  about  Caroline  Coppin,  only  j^ou 
won't  listen." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  got  out  of  him.  His 
recent  conversation  with  Bob's  spirit  had  muddled  him 
for  the  day,  and  he  mixed  up  Caroline  with  her  mother 
or  grandmother.  He  relapsed  into  silence,  and  sat  with 
his  long  pipe  unfilled  in  his  hand,  looking  into  the  fire- 
place; gone  back  in  imagination  to  the  past.  As  the 
oLl  man  made  no  sign  of  conversation,  but  rather  of  a 
disposition  to  "  drop  off"  for  a  few  minutes,  Harry 
began  to  look  about  the  room.  On  the  table  lay  a  bun- 
dle of  old  letters.  It  was  as  if  the  living  and  the  dead 
liad  been  reading  thein  together. 

HaiTV  took  them  uj)  and  turned  them  over,  wonder- 
ing what  secrets  of  long  ago  were  contained  in  those 
20 


306  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

yellow  papers,  with  their  faded  ink.  The  old  man's 
eyes  were  closed — he  took  no  heed  of  his  visitor;  and 
Harry  standing  at  the  table  began  shamelessly  to  read 
the  letters.  They  were  mostly  the  letters  of  a  young 
sailor  addressed  to  one  apparently  a  good  deal  older 
than  himself — for  they  abounded  in  such  appellations 
as  "my  ancient,"  "venerable,"  "old  salt,"  and  so  forth. 
But  the  young  man  did  not  regard  his  correspondent 
with  the  awe  which  ago  should  inspire,  "  but  rather  as 
a  gay  and  rollicking  spirit  who  would  sympathize  with 
the  high- jinks  of  younger  men,  even  if  he  no  longer 
shared  in  them,  and  who  was  an  old  and  still  delighted 
treader  of  those  flowery  paths  which  are  said  by  mor- 
alists to  be  planted  with  the  frequent  pitfall  and  the 
crafty  trap.  "The  old  man,"  thought  Harr}^  "must 
have  been  an  admirable  guide  to  youth,  and  the  disci- 
ple was  apt  to  learn." 

Sometimes  the  letters  were  signed  "  Bob, "  sometimes 
"R.  Coppin,"  sometimes  "R.  C."  Harr}-,  therefore, 
surmised  that  the  writer  was  no  other  than  his  own 
uncle  Bob,  whose  ghost  he  had  just  missed. 

Bob  was  an  officer  on  board  of  an  East  Indiaman, 
but  he  spoke  not  of  such  commonplace  matters  as  the 
face  of  the  ocean  or  the  voice  of  the  tempest.  He  only 
wrote  from  port,  and  told  what  things  he  had  seen  and 
done,  what  he  had  consumed  in  ardent  drink.  The  let- 
ters Avere  brief,  which  seemed  as  well,  because  if  liter- 
ary skill  had  been  present  to  dress  up  effectively  the  sub- 
jects treated,  a  literary  monument  might  have  been 
erected,  the  like  of  which  the  world  has  never  seen. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  most  curious  and  remarkable  circum- 
stance that  even  in  realistic  Prance  the  true  course  of 
the  prodigal  has  never  been  faithfull}^  described.  Now 
the  great  advantage  formerly  possessed  by  the  sailor — 
an  advantage  cruelly  curtailed  b}^  the  establishment  of 
"homes,"  and  the  introduction  of  temperance — was, 
that  he  could  be  and  was  a  prodigal  at  the  end  of  every 
cruise;  while  the  vo3'"age  itself  was  an  agreeable  inter- 
val provided  for  recovery,  recollection,  and  anticipation. 

"Bob,  Uncle  Bob,  was  a  flyer,"  said  Harry.  "One 
should  be  proud  of  such  an  uncle.  With  Bob  and 
Bunker  and  the  bankrupt  builder,  I  am  indeed  pro- 
vided." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  307 

There  seemed  nothing  in  the  letters  which  bore  upon 
the  question  of  his  motlier's  property,  and  he  was  going 
to  put  them  down  again,  when  he  lighted  upon  a  torn 
fragment  on  which  he  saw  in  Bob's  big  handwriting 
the  name  of  his  cousin  Josephus. 

"  Josephus, my  cousin,  that  he  will  .  .  .  (here  a  break  in 
the  continuity)  .  .  .  'nd  the  safe  the  bundle  .  .  .  (another 
break)  .  .  .  for  a  lark.  Josephus  is  a  square-toes.  I  hate  a 
man  who  wont'  drink.  He  will  .  .  (another  break)  if  he 
looks  there.     Your  health  and  song,  shipmate. — R.  C." 

He  read  this  fragment  two  or  three  times  over. 
What  did  it  mean?     Clearly  nothing  to  himself. 

"Josephus  is  a  square-toes."  Very  likely.  The 
prodigal  Bob  was  not.  Quite  the  contrary — he  was  a 
young  man  of  extremely  mercurial  temperament. 
"  Josephus,  my  cousin,  that  he  will  .  .  .  'nd  the  safe  the 
bundle. "  He  put  down  the  paper,  and  without  waking 
the  old  man  he  softly  left  the  room  and  the  jjlace,  shut- 
ting the  door  behind  him ;  and  then  he  forgot  imme- 
diately the  torn  letter  and  its  allusion  to  Josephus,  He 
thought  next  that  he  would  go  to  Bunker  and  put  the 
question  directly  to  him.  The  man  might  be  terrified 
— might  show  confusion — might  tell  lies.  That  would 
matter  little ;  but  if  he  showed  his  hand  too  soon  Bunker 
might  be  put  upon  his  guard.  Well,  that  mattered  lit- 
tle— what  Harry  hoped  was,  rather  to  get  at  the  truth 
than  to  recover  his  houses. 

"  I  want,"  he  said,  finding  his  uncle  at  home,  and  en- 
gaged in  his  office  drawing  up  bills — "  I  want  a  few 
words  of  serious  talk  with  you,  my  uncle." 

"  I  am  busy ;  go  away — I  never  want  to  talk  to  you. 
I  hate  the  very  sight  of  j'our  face." 

He  looked  indeed  as  if  he  did — if  a  flushing  cheek 
and  an  angiy  glare  of  the  ejxs  are  any  sign. 

"  I  am  not  going  away  until  you  have  answered  my 
questions.  As  to  your  hatred  or  your  affection,  that 
does  not  concern  me  at  all.  Now  will  you  listen,  or 
shall  I  wait?" 

"  To  get  rid  of  you  the  sooner,"  growled  Bunker,  "  I 
will  listen  now.  If  I  was  twenty  years  3'ounger  I'd 
kick  you  out." 

•'  If  you  were  twenty  years  younger,  there  might, 
it  is  true,  be  a  fight.     Now  then?" 


308  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  Well,  get  along — m}"  time  is  valuable." 

"  I  have  several  times  asked  you  what  you  got  for 
me  when  you  sold  me.  You  have  on  those  occasions 
allowed  j'ourself  to  fall  into  a  rage,  which  is  really  dan- 
gerous in  so  stout  a  man.  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you 
that  question  any  more." 

Mr.  Bunker  looked  relieved. 

"  Because,  you  see,  I  know  now  what  you  got. " 

Mr.  Bunker  turned  very  pale. 

"  What  do  you  know?" 

"I  know  exactl}^  what  you  got  when  I  was  taken 
away. " 

Mr.  Bunker  said  nothing ;  yet  there  was  in  his  eyes 
a  look  as  if  a  critical  moment  long  expected  had  at  last 
arrived,  and  he  waited. 

"  When  my  mother  died  and  you  became  my  guard- 
ian, I  was  not  left  penniless." 

"  It's  a  lie — you  were." 

"  If  I  had  been,  j-ou  would  have  handed  me  over  to 
your  brother-in-law,  Coppin,  the  builder;  but  I  had 
property." 

"  You  had  nothing. " 

"  I  had  three  houses — one  of  those  houses  is,  I  be- 
lieve, that  which  has  been  rented  from  you,  by  Miss 
Kennedy.  I  do  not  know  yet  where  the  other  two  are ; 
but  I  shall  find  out." 

"You  are  on  a  wrong  tack,"  said  his  uncle;  "now  I 
know  why  you  wouldn't  go  away.  You  came  here  to 
ferret  and  fish,  did  5:ou?  You  thought  you  were  en- 
titled to  propert}^  did  you?  Ho! — you're  a  nice  sort  o' 
chap  to  have  house  property,  ain't  you?  Ha!  ho!" 
But  his  laughter  was  not  mirthful. 

"Let  me  point  out,"  Harry  went  gravely  on,  "what 
it  is  you  have  done.  The  child  wdiom  you  kept  for  a 
year  or  two  was  heir  to  a  small  estate,  bringing  in,  I 
suppose,  about  eighty  or  a  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
We  will  say  that  you  were  entitled  to  keep  that  money 
in  return  for  his  support ;  but  when  that  child  was  car- 
ried away  and  adopted  you  said  nothing  about  the  prop- 
erty. You  kept  it  for  yourself,  and  you  have  received 
the  rents  jeav  after  year,  as  if  the  house  belonged  to 
you.  Shall  I  go  on,  and  tell  you  what  judges  and  law- 
yers and  police  people  call  this  sort  of  conduct?" 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COyDITIOXS  OF  MEX.  309 

"Where's  3-oiir  proofs?"  asked  the  other— his  face 
betraying  his  emotion.     "  Where's  your  proofs?" 

"  I  have  none  yet— I  am  going  to  search  for  those 
proofs." 

"  You  can't  find  them — there  are  none.  Now,  young 
man,  you  have  had  your  say,  and  you  can  go.  Do  you 
hear?     You  can  go." 

"You  deny,  then,  that  the  houses  were  mine?" 

"If  you'd  come  to  me  meek  and  lowly— as  is  your 
humble  station  in  life— I  would  ha'  told  5-ou  the  history 
of  those  houses.  Yes,  your  mother  had  them,  same  as 
her  brothers  and  her  sister.  Where  are  they  now? 
I've  got  'em  all— I've  got  'em  all.  How  did  I  get  'em? 
By  lawful  and  honorable  purchase — I  bought  'em.  Do 
you  want  proofs?  You  shan't  have  any  proofs.  If  you'd 
behaved  humble  you  should  ha'  seen  those  proofs.  Now 
you  may  go  away  and  do  your  worst.  Do  you  hear  ?  You 
may  do  your  worst." 

He  shook  his  fist  in  Harry's  face.  His  words  were 
brave,  but  his  voice  was  shaky  and  his  lips  were  trem- 
bling. 

"  i  don't  believe  5'ou, "  said  Harry.  "  I  am  certain  that 
you  did  not  buy  my  houses.  There  was  no  one  left  to 
care  for  my  interests,  and  you  took  those  houses." 

"  This  is  the  reward,"  said  Bunker,  "  for  nussin'  of  this 
child  for  nigh  upon  three  years.  Who  would  take  an 
orphan  into  his  bosom?  But  it  was  right,  and  I'd  do 
it  again.     Yes.      I'd  do  it  again." 

"I  don't  doubt  you,"  the  ungrateful  nephew  replied, 
"  especially  if  that  other  orphan  had  three  substantial 
houses,  and  there  was  nobody  but  yourself  to  look  after 
him." 

"  As  for  your  proofs,  go  and  look  for  them.  When 
you  ye  found  'em,  bring  'em  to  me— you  and  your 
proofs.  -^  J 

Harry  laughed. 

"I  shall  find  them,  "he  said;  "but  I  don't  know  where 
or  when.  Meantime  you  will  go  on  as  vou  do  now- 
thinking  continually  that  thev  may  be  ^found.  You 
Avuii  t  be  able  to  sleeji  at  night— vou  will  dream  of  po- 
lice courts.  ^  ou  will  let  your  thoughts  run  on  hand- 
cufts— you  will  take  to  drink.  You  will  have  no  pleas- 
ure in  your  life.  You  will  hasten  your  end ;  you  will " 


310  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Here  he  desisted ;  for  his  uncle  (dropping  into  his  chair) 
looked  as  if  he  was  about  to  swoon. 

"  Remember,  I  shall  find  these  proofs  some  daj'.  A 
hundred  a  year,  for  twenty  years,  is  two  thousand 
pounds.  That's  a  large  sum  to  hand  over;  and  then, 
there  is  the  interest.  Upon  my  word,  my  uncle,  you 
will  have  to  begin  the  world  again." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

MR.    bunker's     letter. 

Two  days  after  this  Angela  received  a  wonderful 
letter.  It  was  addressed  to  Miss  Messenger,  and  was 
signed  Benjamin  Bunker,     It  ran  as  follows : 

"  Honored  Miss  :  As  an  old  and  humble  friend  of 
your  late  lamented  grandfather,  whose  loss  I  can  never 
recover  from,  nor  has  it  yet  been  made  up  to  me  in  any 
way" — Angela  laughed — "  I  venture  to  address  the  fol- 
lowing lines  in  secrecy  and  confidence,  knowing  that 
what  ought  not  to  be  concealed  should  be  told  in  the 
proper  quarter,  which  is  you,  miss,  and  none  other. 

"  Everybody  in  these  parts  knows  me ;  everybody 
knows  Bunker,  your  grandfather's  right-hand  man; 
wherefore  what  I  write  is  with  no  other  design  than  to 
warn  you  and  to  put  you  on  your  guard  against  the  de- 
ceitful, and  such  as  would  abuse  your  confidingness, 
being  but  young — ay,  yes,  and  therefore  ignorant  of 
dodges,  and  easy  to  come  round. 

"  You  have  been  come  round,  and  that  in  such  a 
shameful  way  that  I  cannot  bear  myself  any  longer,  and 
must  take  the  liberty  of  telling  you  so,  being  an  old  and 
confidential  adviser.  Your  grandfather  used  to  say 
that  even  the  brewery  wouldn't  be  where  it  is  now  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  me,  not  to  speak  of  the  house  property, 
which  is  now  a  profitable  investment,  with  rents  reg- 
ular and  respectable  tenants,  whereas  before  I  took  it  in 
hand  the  houses  were  out  of  repair,  the  rents  backward, 
and  the  tenants  too  often  such  as  would  bring  discredit 
on  any  estate.  I  therefore  beg  to  warn  you  against 
two  persons — young,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  which  makes 


ALL  SORTS  AM)  COXDITIOyS  OF  HEX.  311 

it  worse,  because  it  is  only  the  old  who  should  be  thua 
depraved — whom  you  have  benefited  and  they  are  un- 
worthy of  it. 

*■  One  of  them  is  a  certain  Miss  Kennedy,  a  dress- 
maker, at  least  she  saj'S  so.  The  other  is — I  write  this 
with  a  blush  of  indignant  shame — my  own  nephcAv, 
whose  name  is  Harry  Goslett." 

"  Bunker !"  murmured  Angela.  "  Is  this  fair  to  3-our 
own  tenant  and  your  own  nephew?" 

"  As  regards  my  nephew,  you  have  never  inquired 
about  him,  and  it  was  out  of  3'our  kindness  and  a  desire 
to  mark  your  sense  of  me,  that  you  gave  him  a  berth 
in  the  brewery.  That  young  man,  miss,  who  calls 
himself  a  cabinet-maker  and  doesn't  seem  to  know  that 
a  joiner  is  one  thing  and  a  cabinet-maker  another,  now 
dfjes  the  joinery  for  the  brewery,  and  makes,  I  am  told, 
as  much  as  tAvo  pounds  a  week,  being  a  handy  chap. 
If  3-0U  asked  me  first,  I  should  have  told  you  that  he  is 
a  lazy,  indolent,  free  and  easy,  disrespectful,  dangerous 
young  man.  He  has  been  no  one  knows  where;  no  one 
knows  where  he  has  worked,  except  that  he  talks  about 
America;  he  looks  like  a  betting  man;  I  believe  he 
drinks  of  a  night;  he  has  been  living  like  a  gentleman, 
doing  no  work,  and  I  believe,  thougTi  up  to  the  present 
I  haven't  found  out  for  certain,  that  he  has  been  in 
trouble  and  knows  what  is  a  convict's  feelings  when  the 
ke}"  is  turned.  Because  he  is  such  a  disgrace  to  the 
family,  for  his  mother  was  a  Coppin  and  came  of  a  re- 
spectable Whitechapel  stock,  though  not  equal  to  the 
Bunkers  or  the  Messengers,  I  went  to  him  and  offered 
him  five-and-twenty  pounds  out  of  my  slender  stock  to 
go  away  and  never  come  back  any  more  to  disgrace  us. 
Five-and-twenty  pounds  I  would  have  given  to  save 
Messenger's  brewery  from  such  a  villain." 

"Bunker,  Bunker!"  murmured  Angela  again. 

"  But  he  wouldn't  take  the  money.  You  thought  to 
do  me  a  good  turn  and  you  done  yourself  a  bad  one.  I 
don't  know  what  mischief  he  has  already  done  in  the 
brewery,  and  perhaps  he  is  watched ;  if  so  it  may  not 
yet  be  too  late.     Send  him  about  his  business.     Make 


312  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

him  go.  You  can  then  consider  some  other  way  of 
making  it  up  to  me  for  all  that  work  for  your  grand- 
father whereof  you  now  sweetly  reap  the  benefit. 

"  The  other  case,  miss,  is  that  of  the  young  woman, 
Kennedy  by  name,  the  dressmaker." 

"  What  of  her,  Bunker?"  asked  Angela. 

"  I  hear  that  you  are  givin'  her  your  custom,  not 
knowing,  maybe,  the  kind  of  woman  she  is  nor  the 
mischief  she's  about.  She's  got  a  house  of  mine  on 
false  pretences." 

"Really,  Bunker,"  said  Angela,  "you  are  too  bad." 

"  Otherwise  I  wouldn't  let  her  have  it,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  year  out  she  goes.  She  has  persuaded  a  lot  of 
foolish  girls,  once  contented  with  their  lowly  lot  and 
thankful  for  their  wages  and  their  work,  nor  inclined 
to  grumble  when  hours  were  long  and  work  had  to  be 
done.  She  has  promised  them  the  profits,  and  mean- 
time she  feeds  them  up  so  that  their  eyes  swell  out  with 
fatness.  She  gives  them  short  hours,  and  sends  them 
out  into  the  garden  to  play  games.  Games,  if  you 
please,  and  short  hours  for  such  as  them.  In  the  even- 
ing it's  worse,  for  then  the}'  play  and  sing  and  dance, 
having  young  men  to  caper  about  with  them,  and  you 
can  hear  them  half  a  mile  up  the  Mile  End  Road,  30 
that  it  is  a  scandal  to  Stepney  Green,  once  respectable, 
and  the  police  will  probably  interfere.  Where  she  came 
from,  who  she  was,  how  she  got  her  money,  we  don't 
know.  Some  say  one  thing,  some  say  another ;  what- 
ever they  say  it's  a  bad  way.  The  worst  is  that  when 
she  smashes,  as  she  must,  because  no  ladies  who  respect 
virtue  and  humble-mindedness  with  contentment  will 
employ  her,  that  the  other  dressmakers  and  shops 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  girls,  so  that  what 
will  happen  to  them  no  one  can  tell. 

"  I  thought  it  right,  miss,  to  give  you  this  infor- 
mation, because  it  is  certain  that  if  you  withdraw  your 
support  from  these  two  undeserving  people,  they  must 
go  awaj^,  which  as  a  respectable  Stepne}-  man,  I  unite 
in  wishing  may  happen  before   long,  when   the   girls 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COyDITIOXS  OF  MEX.  ai3 

shall  go  on  again  as  before  and  leave  off  dancing  and 
singing  to  the  rich,  and  be  humble  and  contented  with 
the  trust  to  which  they  were  born. 

"  And  as  regards  the  kindness  you  were  meditating 
toward  me,  miss,  I  think  that  I  may  say  that  none  of 
my  nephews— one  of  whom  is  a  Radical,  and  another 
a  captain  in  the  Salvation  Army — deserves  to  receive 
any  benefits  at  your  hands,  the  least  of  all  that  villain 
v.-ho  works  in  the  brewery.  Wherefore,  it  may  take 
the  form  of  something  for  myself.  And  it  is  not  for  me 
to  tell  you,  miss,  how  much  that  something  ought  to 
be  for  a  man  in  years,  of  respectable  station,  and  once 
the  confidential  friend  of  your  grandfather,  and  pre- 
vented thereby  from  saving  as  much  as  he  had  other- 
wise a  right  to  expect. 

"  I  remain,  miss,  your  humble  servant, 

"Benjamin  Bunker." 

"This,"  said  Angela,  "is  a  very  impudent  letter. 
How  shall  we  bring  him  to  book  for  it?" 

When  she  learned,  as  she  speedily  did,  the  great  m3's- 
tery  about  the  houses  and  the  Coppin  propeity,  she  be- 
gan to  understand  the  letter,  the  contents  of  which  she 
kept  to  herself  for  the  present.  This  was  perhaps  wise,  for 
the  theory  implied  rather  than  stated  in  the  letter,  that 
both  should  be  ordered  to  go,  for  if  one  only  was  turned 
oat  of  work  both  would  stay.  This  theory  made  her 
smile  and  blush,  and  pleased  her,  insomuch  that  she 
was  not  so  angry  as  she  might  otherwise  have  been,  and 
should  have  been,  with  the  crafty  double-dealer  who 
wrote  the  letter. 

It  happened  that  IVIr.  Bunker  had  business  on  Step- 
ney Green  that  morning,  while  Angela  was  reading 
the  letter.  She  saw  him  from  the  window,  and  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  inviting  him  to  step  in. 
He  came,  not  in  the  least  abashed,  and  with  no  tell-tale 
signal  of  confusion  in  his  rosy  cheeks. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Bunker,"  said  Angela.  "Come  in; 
I  want  five  minutes'  talk  with  vou.  This  wav,  please, 
where  Ave  can  be  alone." 

She  led  him  into  the  refectory,  because  Daniel  Fagg 
was  in  the  drawing  room. 

"I  have  been  thinking,  Mr.  Bunker,"  she  said,  "how 


314  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

very,  very  fortunate  I  was  to  fall  into  such  hands  as 
yours,  when  I  came  to  Stepney. " 

"  You  were,  miss,  j^ou  were.  That  was  a  fall,  as 
one  may  say,  which  meant  a  rise." 

"  I  am  sure  it  did,  Mr.  Bunker,  You  do  not  often 
come  to  see  us,  but  I  hope  you  approve  of  our  plans." 

"As  for  that,"  he  replied,  "it  isn't  my  business. 
People  come  to  me  and  I  put  them  in  the  wa}^  How 
they  run  in  the  way  is  not  my  business  to  inquire.  As 
for  3"ou  and  your  girls,  now,  if  you  make  the  concern 
go,  you  may  thank  me  for  it.  If  you  don't,  why,  it 
isn't  my  fault." 

"  A-^ery  well  put,  indeed,  Mr.  Bunker.  In  six  months 
the  first  year,  for  which  I  paid  the  rent,  will  come  to  an 
end." 

"  It  will." 

"  We  shall  then  have  to  consider  a  fresh  agreement. 
I  was  thinking,  Mr.  Bunker,  that,  seeing  how  good  a 
man  you  are,  and  how  generous,  you  would  like  to 
make  your  rent,  like  the  wages  of  the  girls,  depend  upon 
the  profits  of  the  business. " 

"What?"  he  asked. 

Angela  repeated  her  proposition. 

He  rose,  buttoned  his  coat,  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"Rent  depend  on  profits?  Is  the  girl  mad?  Rent 
comes  first  and  before  anything  else.  Rent  is  even 
before  taxes;  and  as  for  rates — but  you're  mad.  My 
rent  depend  on  profits!  Rent,  miss,  is  sacred.  Re- 
member that. " 

"  Oh !"  said  Angela. 

"And  what  is  more,"  he  added,  "people  who  don't 
pay  up  get  sold  up.  It's  a  Christian  duty  to  sell  'em 
up.     I  couldn't  let  ofi"  my  own  nephews." 

"  As  for  one  of  them,  you  would  like  to  sell  him  up, 
would  you  not,  Mr.  Bunker?" 

"I  would,"  he  replied  truthfully.  "I  should  like  to 
see  him  out  of  the  place.  You  know  what  I  told  you 
when  you  came.  Have  nothing  to  do,  I  said,  with  that 
chap.  Keep  him  at  arm's  length,  for  he  is  a  bad  lot. 
Now  you  see  what  he  has  brought  you  to.  Singin', 
dancin',  playin',  laughin',  every  night;  respectable 
ladies  driven  away  from  your  shop ;  many  actually  kept 
out  of  the  place ;    expenses  doubled ;    all  through  him. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  815 

What's  more — bankruptcy  ahead !  Don't  I  know  that 
not  a  lady  in  Stepney  or  Mile  End  comes  here?  Don't 
I  know  that  you  depend  upon  your  West  End  connec- 
tion? When  that  goes,  where  are  you?  And  all  for 
the  fiake  of  that  pink  and  white  chap !  Well,  when  one 
goes,  the  other'll  go  too,  I  suppose.  Rent  out  of  profits, 
indeed !  No,  no,  Miss ;  it'll  do  you  good  to  learn  a  lit- 
tle business,  even  if  3'ou  do  get  sold  up." 

"  Thank  3'ou,  Mr.  Bunker.  Do  you  know,  I  do  not 
think  youAvill  ever  have  the  pleasure  of  selling  me  up?" 

She  laughed  so  merrily  that  he  felt  he  hated  her  quite 
as  much  as  he  hated  his  nephew.  Why,  six  months 
before,  no  one  laughed  in  Stepney  at  all ;  and  to  think 
that  any  one  should  laugh  at  him,  would  have  been  an 
impossible  dream. 

"You  laugh,"  he  said  gravely,  "and  yet  you  are  on 
the  brink  of  I'uin.  Where's  your  character?  Wrapped 
up  with  the  character  of  that  3"oung  man.  Where's 
jour  business!  Drove  away — by  him.  You  laugh. 
Ah!  I'm  sorr}^  for  you,  miss,  because  I  thought  at  one 
time  you  were  a  plain-spoken,  honest  sort  of  young  wom- 
an; if  I'd  ha'  known  that  you  meant  to  use  my  house 
— mine,  the  friend  of  all  the  respectable  tradesmen — 
for  such  wicked  fads  as  now  disgrace  it,  I'd  never  ha' 
taken  you  for  a  tenant." 

"Oh  yes,  you  would,  Mr.  Bunker."  She  laughed 
again,  but  not  merrily  this  time.  "  Oh  j^es  —  you 
would.  You  forget  the  fittings  and  the  furniture,  the 
rent  paid  in  advance,  and  the  half-crown  an  hour  for 
advice.  Is  there  anj'thing,  I  should  like  to  know,  that 
you  would  not  do  for  half  a  crown  an  hour?" 

He  made  no  reph'. 

"  Why,  again,  do  you  hate  your  nephew?  What 
injury  have  you  done  him  that  you  should  bear  him 
such 'ill  will?" 

This,  which  was  not  altogether  a  shot  in  the  dark, 
went  straight  to  Mr.  Bunker's  heart.  He  said  nothing, 
but  put  on  his  hat  and  rushed  out.  Clearly  these  two, 
between  them,  would  drive  him  mad. 


316  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

PROOFS    IN    PRINT. 

"It  is  quite  finished  now,'"  said  Daniel  Fagg,  blot- 
ting the  last  page. 

When  he  began  to  live  with  the  dressmakers,  An-, 
gela,  desiring  to  find  him  some  employment,  had  sug- 
gested that  he  should  rewrite  the  whole  of  his  book,  and 
redraw  the  illustrations.  It  was  not  a  large  book, 
even  though  it  was  stuffed  and  padded  with  readings 
of  inscriptions  and  tablets.  An  ordinary  writer  would 
have  made  a  fair  copy  in  a  fortnight.  But  so  careful 
an  author  as  Daniel,  so  anxious  to  present  his  work 
perfect  and  unassailable,  and  so  slow  in  the  mere  me- 
chanical art  of  writing,  wanted  much  more  than  a  fort- 
night. His  handwriting,  like  his  Hebrew,  had  been 
acquired  comparatively  late  in  life;  it  was  therefore 
rather  ponderous,  and  he  had  never  learned  the  art  of 
writing  half  a  word  and  leaving  the  other  half  to  be 
guessed.  Then  there  were  the  Hebrew  words,  which 
took  a  great  deal  of  time  to  get  right;  and  the  equi- 
lateral triangles,  which  also  caused  a  considerable 
amount  of  trouble.  So  that  it  was  a  good  six  weeks 
before  Daniel  was  ready  with  a  fair  copy  of  his  manu- 
script. He  was  almost  as  happy  in  making  this  tran- 
script as  he  had  been  with  the  original  document;  per- 
haps more  so,  because  he  was  now  able  to  consider  his 
great  discovery  as  a  whole,  to  regard  it  as  an  architect 
may  regard  his  finished  work,  and  to  touch  up,  orna- 
ment, and  improve  his  translations. 

"It  is  quite  complete,"  he  repeated,  laying  the  last 
page  in  its  place  and  tapping  the  roll  affectionately. 
"  Here  you  will  find  the  full  account  of  the  two  tables 
of  stone  and  a  translation  of  their  contents,  with  notes. 
What  will  they  say  to  that,  I  wonder?" 

"But  how,"  asked  Angela — "how  did  the  tables  of 
stone  get  to  the  British  Museum?" 

Mr.  Fagg  considered  his  reply  for  a  while. 

"There  are  two  ways,"  he  said,  "and  I  don't  know 
which  is  the  right  one.     For  either  they  were  brought 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  317 

here  when  we,  the  descendants  of  Ephraim,  as  every- 
body knows,  landed  in  England,  or  else  they  were 
brought  here  by  Phoenician  traders  after  the  Captivity. 
However,  there  the}--  are,  as  anybody  may  see  with  the 
help  of  my  discovery.  As  for  the  scholars,  how  can 
they  see  anything?  Wilful  ignorance,  miss,  is  their 
sin:  pride  and  wilful  ignorance.  You're  ignorant 
because  you  are  a  woman,  and  it  is  j'our  nature  too. 
But  not  to  love  darkness !" 

"No,  Mr.  Fagg.  I  lament  my  ignorance." 
"  Then  there's  the  story  of  David  and  Jonathan,  and 
the  history  of  Jezebel  and  her  great  wickedness,  and 
the  life  and  death  of  King  Jehosbaphat,  and  a  great 
deal  more.  Now  read  for  the  first  time  from  the  arrow- 
headed  character — so  called — by  Daniel  Fagg,  self- 
taught  scholar,  once  shoemaker  in  the  colony  of  Vic- 
toria, discoverer  of  the  Primitive  Alphabet  and  the 
Universal  Language." 

"  That  is,  indeed,  a  glorious  thing  to  be  able  to  say, 
Mr.  Fagg." 

"  But  now  it  is  written,  what  next?" 
"  You  mean  how  can  jou  get  it  printed?" 
"Of  course — that's  what  I  mean,"  he  replied  almost 
angrily.     "  There's  the  book  and  no  one  will  look  at  it. 
Haven't  I  tried  all  the  publishers?     What  else  should 
I  mean?" 

The  old  disappointment,  kept  under  and  forgotten 
during  the  excitement  of  re- writing  the  book,  was  mak- 
ing itself  felt  again.  How  much  further  forward  was 
he — the  work  had  been  finished  long  before.  All  he 
had  done  the  last  six  weeks  was  to  write  it  afresh. 

"  I've  only  been  wasting  my  time  here,"  he  said  quer- 
ulously. "  I  ought  to  have  been  up  and  about.  I 
might  have  gone  to  Oxford,  where,  I  am  told,  there 
are  young  men  who  would,  perhaps,  give  me  a  hearing. 
Or,  there's  Cambridge — where  the}"  have  never  heard 
of  ni}"  discovery.  You've  made  me  waste  six  weeks 
and  more." 

Angela  forbore  to  ask  him  how  he  would  have  lived 
during  those  six  weeks.  She  replied  softh' :  "  Nay, 
Mr.  Fagg;  not  wasted  the  time.  You  were  overworked ; 
you  wanted  rest.  Besides,  I  think,  we  may  find  a  plan 
to  get  this  book  published." 


818  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"What  plan— how?" 

"  If  you  would  trust  the  manuscript  to  mj^  hands. 
Yes,  I  know  well  how  precious  it  is,  and  what  a  dread- 
ful thing  it  would  be  to  lose  it.  But  you  have  a  copy, 
and  you  can  keep  that  while  I  take  the  other." 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  take  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet — to  one  of  the  publishers,  I  sup- 
pose." 

He  groaned. 

'•  I  have  been  to  every  one  of  them — not  a  publisher 
in  London  but  has  had  the  offer  of  my  book.  They 
won't  have  it,  any  of  them.  Oh,  it's  their  loss — I 
know  that.     But  what  is  it  to  me?" 

"Will  you  let  me  try — will  you  trust  me  with  the 
manuscript?" 

He  reluctantly  and  jealously  allowed  her  to  take 
awa}'  the  precious  document.  When  it  was  out  of  his 
hands  he  tried  to  amuse  himself  with  the  first  copy,  but 
found  no  pleasure  in  it  at  all ;  because  he  thought  con- 
tinually of  the  scorn  which  had  been  hurled  upon  him 
and  his  discovery.  He  saw  the  heads  of  departments, 
one  after  the  other,  receiving  him  politel}^  and  listening 
to  what  he  had  to  say.  He  saw  them  turning  impatient 
— interrupting  him,  declining  to  hear  any  more — refer- 
ring him  to  certain  books  in  which  he  would  find  a 
refutation  of  his  theories ;  and  finally  refusing  even  to 
see  him. 

Never  was  discoverer  treated  with  such  contempt — • 
even  the  attendants  at  the  Museum  took  their  cue  from 
the  chiefs,  and  received  his  advances  with  scorn. 
Should  they  waste  their  time — the  illiterate — in  listen- 
ing unprofitably  to  one  whom  the  learned  Dr.  Birch 
and  the  profound  Mr.  Newton  had  sent  away  in  con- 
tempt? Better  sit  in  the  spacious  halls,  bearing  the 
wand  of  office  and  allowing  the  eyelids  to  fall  gently, 
and  the  mind  to  wander  away  among  pleasant  past- 
ures, where  there  was  drink  with  tobacco.  Then  there 
were  the  people  who  had  subscribed.  Some  of  them 
were  gentlemen  connected  with  Australia.  They  had 
tossed  him  the  twelve-and-sixpence  in  the  middle  of 
his  talk,  as  if  to  get  rid  of  him.  Some  of  them  had 
subscribed  in  pity  for  his  poverty — some  persuaded  by 
his  importunity.     There  was  not  one  among  them  all 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  319 

(he  reflected  with  humiliation)  who  subscribed  because 
he  believed.  Stay — there  was  this  ignorant  dress- 
maker. One  convert  out  of  all  to  whom  he  had  ex- 
plained his  discovery ;  one,  only  one. 

There  have  been  many  religious  enthusiasts — proph- 
ets, preachers,  holders  of  strange  doctrines — who  have 
converted  women  so  that  they  believed  them  inspired 
of  heaven.  Yet  these  men  made  other  converts ;  where- 
as he  (Fagg)  had  but  this  one,  and  she  was  not  in  love 
with  him,  because  he  was  old  now  and  no  longer 
comely.  This  was  a  grand  outcome  of  that  Australian 
enthusiasm ! 

That  day  Mr.  Fagg  was  disagreeable,  considered  as 
a  companion.  He  found  fault  with  the  dinner,  which 
was  excellent,  as  usual.  He  complained  that  the  beer 
was  thick  and  flat ;  whereas  it  sparkled  like  champagne, 
and  was  as  clear  as  a  bell.  He  was  cross  in  the  after- 
noon, and  wanted  to  prevent  the  child  who  sat  in  the 
drawing-room  from  practising  her  music;  and  he  went 
out  for  his  w^alk  in  a  dark  and  gloomy  mood. 

Angela  let  him  have  his  querulous  way  unrebuked, 
because  she  knew  the  cause  of  it.  He  was  suffering 
from  that  dreadful,  hopeless  anger  which  falls  upon  the 
unappreciated.  He  was  like  some  poet,  who  brings  out 
volume  after  volume,  yQt  meets  with  no  admirers,  and 
remains  obscure.  He  was  like  some  novelist  who  has 
produced  a  masterpiece — which  nobod}'  will  read — or 
like  some  actor  (the  foremost  of  his  age)  who  depletes 
the  house ;  or  like  a  dramatist,  from  whose  acted  works 
the  public  fly ;  or  like  a  man  who  invents  something 
which  is  to  revolutionize  things.  Onlj^  people  prefer 
their  old  way ! 

Good  heavens!  Is  it  impossible  to  move  this  vast 
inert  mass  called  the  world?  Why,  there  are  men  who 
can  move  it  at  their  will — even  by  a  touch  of  their  little 
finger — and  the  unappreciated  with  all  their  efforts 
cannot  make  the  slightest  imjiression.  This,  from 
time  to  time,  makes  them  go  mad !  and  at  such  periods 
they  are  unpleasant  persons  to  meet.  They  growl  at 
their  clubs,  they  quarrel  with  their  blood  relations — 
they  snarl  at  their  wives,  the}^  grumble  at  their  servants ! 

Daniel  was  having  such  a  fit. 

It  lasted  two  whole  days,  and  on  the  second  Rebekah 


320  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

took  upon  herself  to  lead  him  aside  and  reprove  him  for 
the  sin  of  ingratitude — because  it  was  very  well  known 
to  all  that  the  nv:n  would  have  gone  to  the  Vv'orkhouse 
but  for  Miss  Kennedy's  timely  help. 

She  asked  him  sternly  v>^hat  he  had  done  to  merit  that 
daily  bread  which  was  given  him  without  a  murmur? 
And  what  excuse  he  could  make  for  his  bad  temper  and 
his  rudeness  toward  the  woman  who  had  done  so  much 
for  him? 

He  had  no  excuse  to  make — because  Rebekah  would 
not  have  understood  the  true  one — v\'herefore  she  bade 
him  repent  and  reform,  or  he  \vould  hear  more  from 
her.  This  threat  frightened  him,  though  it  could  not 
remove  his  irritation  and  depression ;  but,  on  the  third 
day,  sunshine  and  good  cheer  and  hope,  new  hope  and 
enthusiasm,  returned  to  him.  For  Miss  Kennedy 
announced  to  him  with  many  smiles  that  a  publisher  had 
accepted  his  manuscript;  and  that  it  had  already  been 
sent  to  the  printers. 

"  He  will  publish  it  for  you,"  she  said,  "at  no  cost  to 
yourself.  He  will  give  you  as  many  copies  as  you 
wish  to  have  for  presentation  among  your  friends  and 
among  your  subscribers.  You  will  like  to  send  copies 
to  your  subscribers,  will  you  not?" 

He  rubbed  his  hands  and  laughed  aloud. 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  will  prove  that  I  did  not  eat  up  the 
subscriptions." 

"Of  course," — Angela  smiled,  but  did  not  contradict 
the  proposition — "  of  course,  Mr.  Fagg.  And  if  ever 
there  was  any  doubt  in  your  own  mind  about  that 
money  it  is  now  removed,  because  the  book  will  be  in 
their  hands;  and  all  they  wanted  was  the  book." 

"Yes,  3'es;  and  no  one  will  be  able  to  say — you 
know  what.     Will  they?" 

"  No,  no;  you  will  have  proofs  sent  you." 

"Proofs,"  he  murmured,  "proofs  in  print! — will  they 
send  me  proofs  soon?" 

"  I  believe  you  will  have  the  whole  book  set  up  in  a 
few  weeks." 

"  Oh,  the  whole  book !     My  book  set  up  in  print?" 

"Yes.  And  if  I  were  you,  I  would  send  an  an- 
nouncement of  the  work  b}^  the  next  mail  to  your  Aus- 
tralian friends.     Say  that  your  discovery  has  at  length 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  321 

assumed  its  final  shape,  and  is  now  ripe  for  publication, 
alter  being  laid  before  all  the  learned  societies  of  Lon- 
don ;  and  that  it  has  been  accejjted  by  Messrs. ,  the 

well-known  publishers,  and  will  be  issued  almost  as 
soon  as  this  announcement  reaches  Melbourne.  Here 
is  a  slip  that  I  have  prepared  for  j^ou." 

He  took  it  with  glittering,  eyes  and  stammering  voice. 
The  news  seemed  too  good  to  be  true. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Fagg,  that  this  has  been  settled,  there  is 
another  thing  which  1  should  like  to  propose  for  your 
consideration.  Did  jou  ever  hear  of  that  great  Roman 
who  saved  his  country  in  a  time  of  peril,  and  then  went 
back  to  the  plough?" 

Daniel  shook  his  head. 

"  Is  there  any  Hebrew  inscription  about  him?"  he 
asked. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  What  I  mean  is  this :  When 
your  volume  is  sent,  Mr.  Fagg — when  you  have  sent  it 
triumphantly  to  all  the  learned  societies  and  all  your 
subscribers,  and  all  the  papers  and  everywhere  (includ- 
ing 3'our  Australian  friends),  because  the  publisher  will 
let  you  have  as  many  copies  as  you  please — would  it  not 
be  a  graceful  thing,  and  a  thing  for  future  historians 
to  remember,  that  you  left  England  at  the  moment  of 
your  greatest  fame,  and  went  back  to  Australia  to  take 
up — your  old  occupation?  " 

Daniel  never  had  considered  the  thing  is  this  light, 
and  showed  no  enthusiasm  at  the  proposal. 

'■  When  your  friends  in  Victoria  prophesied  fortune 
and  tame,  Mr.  Fagg,  they  spoke  out  of  their  hopes  and 
their  pride  in  you.  Of  course,  I  do  not  know  much 
about  these  things.  How  should  I?  Yet  I  am  quite 
certain  that  it  takes  a  long  time  for  a  learned  discovery 
to  make  its  way.  There  are  jealousies — j-ou  have  ex- 
perienced them — and  unwillingness  to  admit  new  things. 
You  have  met  with  that,  too ;  and  reluctance  to  unlearn 
old  things.     Whv,  j^ou  have  met  with  that  as  well." 

"I  have,"  he  said,  "I  have." 

"  As  for  granting  a  pension  to  a  scholar — or  a  title, 
or  anj'thing  of  that  sort — it  is  really  never  done.     So 
that  you  would  have  to  make  your  own  living  if  you 
remained  here." 
21 


322  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN. 

"  I  thought  that  when  the  book  was  published  people 
would  buy  it." 

Angela  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  no !  That  is  not  the  kind  of  book  which  is 
bought — very  few  people  know  anything  about  inscrip- 
tions. Those  who  do  will  go  to  the  British  Museum 
and  read  it  there — one  copy  will  do  for  all." 

Daniel  looked  perplexed. 

''You  do  not  go  back  empty-handed,"  she  said. 
"  You  will  have  a  fine  stor}^  to  tell  of  how  the  great 
scholars  laughed  at  3-our  discovery,  and  how  you  got 
about  and  told  people,  and  they  subscribed,  and  jowt 
book  was  published,  and  how  you  sent  it  to  all  of  them 
— to  show  the  mistake  they  had  made — and  how  the 
English  people  have  got  the  book  now,  to  confound  the 
scholars ;  and  how  your  mission  is  accomplished,  and 
you  are  at  home  again — to  live  and  die  among  your 
own  people.  It  will  be  a  glorious  return,  Mr.  Fagg.  I 
envy  you  the  landing  at  Melbourne — your  book  under 
your  arm.  You  will  go  back  to  3'our  old  township — ■ 
you  will  give  a  lecture  in  the  schoolroom  on  your  stay 
in  England,  and  your  reception.  And  then  you  will 
take  your  old  place  again  and  follow  your  old  calling, 
exactly  the  same  as  if  you  had  never  left  it,  but  for  the 
honor  and  reverence  which  people  will  pay  you !" 

Daniel  cooed  like  a  dove. 

"  It  may  be,"  the  siren  went  on,  "  that  people  will  pay 
pilgrimages  to  see  you  in  your  old  age.  They  will  come 
to  see  the  man  who  discovered  the  Primitive  Alphabet 
and  the  Universal  Language.  They  will  say:  'This 
in  Daniel  Fagg — the  great  Daniel  Fagg,  whose  unaided 
intellect  overset  and  brought  to  confusion  all  the  schol- 
ars, and  showed  their  learning  was  but  vain  pretence; 
w^ho  proved  the  truth  of  the  Scriptures  by  his  reading 
of  tablets  and  inscriptions ;  and  who  returned  when  he 
had  finished  his  task,  wirh  the  modesty  of  a  great  mind, 
to  his  simple  calling. '" 

"I  will  go,"  said  Daniel,  banging  the  table  with  his 
fist;  "  I  will  go  as  soon  as  the  book  is  ready," 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  333 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THEN   we'll    keep   COMPANY. 

After  the  celebrated  debate  on  the  abolition  of  the 
Lords,  Dick  Coppin  found  that  he  took  for  the  moment 
a  greatly  diminished  interest  in  burning  political  ques- 
tions. He  lost,  in  fact,  confidence  in  himself,  and  went 
about  with  hanging  head.  The  Sunday  evening  meet- 
ings were  held  as  usual,  but  the  fiery  voice  of  Dick  the 
Radical  was  silent,  and  people  wondered.  This  was 
the  effect  of  his  cousin's  address  upon  him.  As  for  the 
people,  it  had  made  them  laugh,  just  as  Dick's  had 
made  them  angry.  They  came  to  the  Hall  to  get  these 
little  emotions,  and  not  for  any  jjersonal  or  critical  in- 
terest in  the  matter  discussed ;  and  this  was  about  all 
the  effect  produced  by  them. 

One  evening  the  old  Chartist  who  had  taken  the 
chair  met  Dick  at  the  club. 

"Come  out,"  he  said,  "come  out  and  have  a  crack 
while  the  boys  wrangle." 

They  walked  from  Redman's  Lane,  where  the  club 
stands,  to  the  quiet  side  pavement  of  Stepney  Green, 
deserted  now  because  the  respectable  peoj^le  were  all  in 
church,  and  it  was  too  cold  for  the  lounging  of  the 
more  numerous  class  of  those  who  cannot  call  them- 
selves respectable.  The  ex-Chartist  belonged,  like  Dan- 
iel Fagg,  to  the  shoemaking  trade  in  its  humbler  lines. 
The  connection  between  leather  and  Socialism,  Chart- 
ism, Radicalism,  Atheism,  and  other  things  detrimen- 
tal to  old  institutions,  has  frequentl}'  been  pointed  out, 
and  need  not  be  repeated.  It  is  a  reflecting  trade,  and 
the  results  of  meditation  are  mainly  influenced  by  the 
amount  of  knowledge  the  meditation  brings  with  it. 
In  this  respect  the  Chartist  of  thirty  years  ago  had  a 
great  advantage  over  his  successors  of  the  present  day, 
for  he  had  read.  He  knew  the  works  of  Owen,  of  Hol- 
yoke,  and  of  Cobbett.  He  understood  something  of 
what  he  wanted,  and  why  he  wanted  it.  The  proof  of 
which  is  that  they  have  got  all  they  wanted,  and  we 
still  survive. 


324  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

When  next  the  people  make  up  their  minds  that  they 
want  another  set  of  things  they  will  probably  get  them, 
too. 

"Let  us  talk,"  he  said.  "I've  been  thinking  a  bit 
about  that  chap's  speech  the  other  night — I  wanted  an 
answer  to  it." 

"  Have  you  got  one?" 

"  It's  all  true  what  he  said — first  of  all,  it's  true. 
The  pinch  is  just  the  same.  Whether  the  Liberals  are 
in  or  the  Tories,  Government  don't  help  us.  Why 
should  we  help  them?" 

"  Is  that  all  your  answer?" 

"  Wait  a  bit,  lad — don't  hurry  a  man.  The  chap 
was  right.  We  ought  to  co-operate  and  get  all  he  said, 
and  a  deal  more;  and  once  we  do  begin,  mind  you, 
there'll  be  astonishment — because  you  see,  Dick,  my 
lad,  there's  work  before  us.  But  we  must  be  educated; 
we  must  all  be  got  to  see  what  we  can  do  if  we 
like.  That  chap's  clever  noAV,  though  he  looks  like  a 
swell." 

"'  He's  got  plenty  in  him.  But  he'll  never  be  one  of 
us." 

"  If  we  can  use  him,  what  matter  whether  he  is  one 
of  us  or  not?  Come  to  that — who  is  'us'?  You  don't 
pretend  before  me  that  you  call  yourself  one  of  the  com- 
mon workmen,  do  you?  That  does  for  the  club;  but, 
between  ourselves,  whj",  man !  you  and  me,  we're  lead- 
ers. We've  got  to  think  for  'em.  What  I  think  is — 
make  that  chap  draw  up  a  plan,  if  he  can,  for  getting 
the  people  to  work  together — for  we've  got  all  the  power 
at  last,  Dick.  We've  got  all  the  power.  Don't  forget 
when  we  old  'uns  are  dead  and  gone,  who  done  it  for 
you." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment.     Then  he  went  on : 

"We've  got  what  we  wanted — that's  true;  and  we 
seem  to  be  no  better  off — that's  true,  too.  But  we  are 
better  off,  because  we  feel  that  every  man  has  his  share 
in  the  rule  of  the  nation.  That's  a  grand  thing.  We 
are  not  kept  out  of  our  vote — we  don't  see,  as  Ave  used 
to  see,  our  money  spent  for  us  without  having  a  saj^. 
That's  a  very  grand  thing,  which  he  doesn't  understand, 
nor  you  neither,  because  you  are  too  young.  Every- 
thing we  get,  which  makes  us  feel  our  power  more,  is 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITTOXS  OF  MEX.  325 

good  for  us.  The  chap  was  right ;  but  he  was  wrong 
as  well.     Don't  give  up  politics,  lad." 

"  What's  tiie  good  if  nothing  comes?" 

"  There's  a  chance  now  for  the  working-man,  such  as 
he  has  never  had  before  in  history.  You  are  the  lad 
to  take  that  chance.  I've  watched  you,  Dick,  since 
5'ou  first  began  to  come  to  the  club — there's  life  in  you. 
Lord !  I  watch  the  young  fellows  one  after  the  other. 
The}"  stamp  and  froth,  but  it  comes  to  nothing.  You're 
different — you  want  to  be  something  better  than  a  bel- 
lows ;  though  your  speech  the  other  night  came  pretty 
nigh  to  the  bellows  kind." 

"  Well,  what  is  the  chance?" 

"  The  House,  Dick.  The  working-men  will  send  you 
there,  if  j'ou  can  show  them  that  you've  got  something 
in  you.  It  isn't  froth  they  want — it's  a  practical  man, 
with  knowledge.  You  go  on  reading,  go  on  speaking, 
go  on  debating.  Keep  it  up.  Get  your  name  known ; 
don't  demean  yourself.  Get  reported;  and  learn  all 
that  there  is  to  learn.  Once  in  the  House,  Dick,  if  you 
are  not  afraid " 

"I  shall  not  be  afraid." 

"  Humph !  Well,  we  shall  see.  Well,  there's  your 
chance.  A  working-man's  candidate — one  of  ourselves. 
That's  a  card  for  you  to  play;  but  not  so  ignorant  as 
3'our  mates.  Eh?  Able  (if  3'ou  want)  to  use  the  swell's 
sneerin'  talk — so's  to  call  a  man  a  liar,  without  sa^'in' 
the  words.  To  make  him  feel  like  a  fool  and  a  whipped 
cur,  with  just  showing  your  white  teeth  !  Learn  them 
ways,  Dick — they'll  bo  useful." 

"But  if,"  said  the  young  man  doubtfulh',  "if  I  am 
to  keep  on  debating,  what  subjects  shall  we  take  up  at 
the  club?" 

"  I  should  go  in  for  practical  subjects.  Say  that  the 
club  is  ready  to  vote  for  the  alx^lition  of  the  Lords  and 
the  Church,  and  reform  of  the  land  laws  when  the  time 
comes.  You  haven't  got  the  choice  of  subjects  that  we 
had.  Lord!  what  with  rotten  boroughs  and  the  black 
Book  of  Pensions,  and  j'ounger  sons,  and  favoritism  in 
the  service,  why,  our  hands  were  full." 

"  What  practical  subjects?" 

"  Wh}-,  them  as  your  cousin  talked  about.  There's 
the  wages  of  the  girls — there's  food  and  tish  and  drink. 


326  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

There's  high  rent — there's  a  world  of  subjects.  You 
go,  and  find  out  all  about  them.  Give  up  the  rest  for  a 
spell,  and  make  yourself  master  of  all  these  questions. 
If  5'ou  do,  Dick,  I  believe  your  fortune  is  made." 

Dick  looked  doubtful — it  seemed  disheartening  to  be 
sent  back  to  the  paltry  matter  of  wages,  prices,  and  so 
on,  when  he  was  burning  to  lead  in  something  great. 
Yet  the  advice  was  sound. 

"Sometimes  I  think,  Dick,"  the  old  man  went  on, 
"  that  the  w^orking-man's  best  friend  would  be  the  swells, 
if  they  could  be  got  hold  of.  Thej^'ve  got  nothing  to 
make  out  of  the  artisan.  They  don't  run  factories,  nor 
keep  shops.  They  don't  care,  bless  3'ou,  how  high  his 
wages  are.  Why  should  they?  They've  got  their 
farmers  to  pay  the  rent ;  and  their  houses,  and  their 
money  in  the  funds.  What  does  it  matter  to  them? 
They're  well  brought  up,  most  of  them — civil  in  their 
manner,  and  disposed  to  be  friendly  if  you're  neither 
standoffish  nor  familiar;  but  know  yourself,  and  talk 
accordin'." 

"  If  the  swells  were  to  come  to  us,  we  ought  to  go  to 
them — remember  that,  Dick.  Very  soon  there  will  be 
no  more  questions  of  Tory  and  Liberal ;  but  only  what 
is  the  best  thing  for  us.  You  play  your  game  by  the 
newest  rules.  As  for  the  old  ones,  they've  seen  their 
day." 

Dick  left  him;  but  he  did  not  return  to  the  club. 
He  communed  beneath  the  stars,  turning  over  these  and 
other  matters  in  his  mind. 

"  Yes,  the  old  man  was  right.  The  old  indignation 
times  Avere  over.  The  long  list  of  crimes  which  the 
political  agitator  could  bring  against  King,  Church, 
Lords,  and  Commons  thirty,  forty,  fifty  years  ago,  are 
useless  now.  They  only  serve  to  amuse  an  audience  not 
too  critical. 

He  was  ashamed  of  what  he  had  himself  said  about 
the  Lords.  Such  charges  are  like  the  oratory  of  an  ex- 
minister  on  the  stump — finding  no  accusation  too  reck- 
less to  be  hurled  against  his  enemies. 

He  was  profoundly  ambitious.  To  some  men,  situ- 
ated like  himself,  it  might  have  been  a  legitimate  and 
sufficient  ambition  to  recover  by  slow  degrees  and  thrift, 
and  in  some  trading  way,  the  place  in  the  middle  class 


ALL  SOR'n'S  AXD  fOXDlTlOyiS  OF  MEN.  327 

from  which  the  Coppins  had  fallen.  Not  so  to  Dick 
Coppin — he  cared  ver}' little  about  the  former  greatness 
of  the  Coi^pins,  and  the  position  once  occupied  by  Cop- 
pin  the  builder  (his  father),  before  he  went  bankrupt. 
He  meant  secretly  something  very  much  greater  for 
himself.  He  would  be  a  member  of  Parliament — he 
would  be  a  working-man's  member.  There  have  al- 
ready been  half  a  dozen  working-men's  members  in  the 
House.  Their  success  has  not  hitherto  been  marked, 
probably  because  none  of  them  have  shown  that  they 
know  what  they  want — if,  indeed,  they  want  anything. 
Up  to  the  last  few  days  Dick  simplj"  desired  in  the  ab- 
stract to  be  one  of  them;  only,  of  course,  a  red-hot 
Radical — an  Irreconcilable. 

Now,  however,  he  desired  more.  His  cousin's  words 
and  the  Chartist's  words  fell  on  fruitful  soil.  He  per- 
ceived that  to  become  a  power  in  the  House  one  must 
be  able  to  inform  the  House  on  the  wants — the  pro- 
gramme of  his  constituents — what  tliey  desire,  and 
mean  to  have.  Dick  always  mentally  added  that 
clause,  because  it  belongs  to  the  class  of  speech  in  which 
he  had  been  brought  up — "and  we  mean  to  have  it." 
You  accompany  the  words  with  a  flourish  of  the  left 
hand,  which  is  found  to  be  more  effective  than  the  right 
for  such  purposes.  They  don't  really  mean  to  have  it, 
whatever  it  may  be.  But  with  their  audiences  it  is 
necessary  to  put  on  the  appearance  of  strength  before 
there  arises  any  confidence  in  strength.  Disestablishers 
of  all  kinds  invariably  mean  to  have  it,  and  the  phrase 
is,  perhaps,  getting  played  out. 

Dick  went  home  to  his  lodgings  and  sat  among  his 
books,  thinking.  He  was  a  man  who  read.  For  the 
sake  of  being  independent,  he  became  a  teetotaler — so 
that,  getting  good  wages,  he  was  rich.  He  would  not 
marry,  because  he  did  not  want  to  be  encumbered.  He 
bought  such  books  as  he  thought  would  be  useful  to 
him,  and  read  them,  but  no  others.  He  was  a  man  of 
energy  and  tenacity,  whose  chief  fault  was  the  entire 
absence  as  yet  of  sympathy  and  imagination — if  these 
could  be  supplied  in  any  way,  Dick  Coppin's  course 
would  be  assured.  For  with  them  would  come  play  of 
fancy,  repartee,  wit,  illustration,  and  the  graces  as  well 
as  the  strength  of  oratory. 


328  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

He  went  on  Monday  evening  to  see  Miss  Kennedy. 
He  would  find  out  from  her,  as  a  beginning,  all  that 
she  could  tell  him  about  the  wages  of  women. 

"  But  I  have  told  3"ou,"  she  said,  "  I  told  you  all  the 
first  night  jon  came  here — have  you  forgotten?  Then, 
I  suppose,  I  must  tell  you  again," 

The  first  time  he  was  only  bored  with  the  story,  be- 
cause he  did  not  see  how  he  could  use  it  for  his  own 
purposes — therefore  he  had  forgotten  the  details. 

She  told  him  the  sad  story  of  woman's  wrongs,  which 
go  unredressed  while  their  sisters  clamor  for  female 
suflPrage  and  make  school  boards  intolerable  by  their 
squabljles.  The  women  do  but  copy  the  men ;  therefore, 
Avhile  the  men  neglect  the  things  that  lie  ready  to  their 
hand  and  hope  for  things  impossible,  under  new  forms 
of  government,  what  wonder  if  the  women  do  the 
like? 

This  time  Dick  listened,  because  he  now  understood 
that  a  practical  use  might  be  made  out  of  the  informa- 
tion. He  was  not  a  man  of  highly  sensitive  organiza- 
tion, nor  did  he  feel  any  indignation  at  the  things  An- 
gela told  him,  seeing  that  he  had  grown  up  among  these 
things  all  his  life,  and  regarded  the  inequalities  of 
wages  and  work  as  part  of  the  bad  luck  of  being  born 
a  woman.  But  he  took  note  of  all,  and  asked  shrewd 
questions  and  made  suggestions. 

*■"  If,"  he  said,  "  there's  a  hundred  women  asking  for 
ten  places,  of  course  the  governor  '11  give  them  to  the 
cheapest. " 

"  That, "  replied  Angela,  "  is  a  matter  of  course  as 
things  now  are.  But  there  is  another  way  of  consider- 
ing the  question.  If  we  had  a  Woman's  Trade  Union, 
as  v,'e  shall  have  before  long,  where  there  are  ten  places 
only  ten  women  sliould  be  allowed  to  a]3ply,  and  just 
wages  be  demanded." 

""How  is  that  to  be  done?" 

''  My  friend,  you  have  yet  a  great  deal  to  learn." 

Dick  reddened  and  replied  rudely,  that  if  he  had,  he 
did  not  expect  to  learn  it  from  a  woman. 

"'  A  great  deal  to  learn,"  she  repeated  gently.  "  Above 
all,  you  have  got  to  learn  the  lesson  which  your  cousin 
began  to  teach  you  the  other  night,  the  great  lesson  of 
finding  out  what  you  want  and  then  getting  it  for  your- 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN  321) 

selves.  Governments  are  nothing ;  you  must  help  your- 
selves; you  must  combine." 

He  was  silent.  The  girl  made  him  angry,  yet  he 
was  afraid  of  her  because  no  other  woman  he  had  ever 
met  spoke  as  she  did  or  knew  so  much. 

"Combine,"  she  repeated.  "Preach  the  doctrine  of 
combination ;  and  t^ach  us  the  purposes  for  which  we 
ought  to  combine." 

The  advice  was  just  what  the  cobbler  had  given. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Coppin" — her  voice  was  as  winning  as  her 
eyes  were  kind  and  full  of  interest — "  3'ou  are  clever ; 
you  are  persevering;  you  are  brave;  you  have  so  splen- 
did a  voice ;  you  have  such  a  natural  gift  of  oratory, 
that  you  ought  to  become — you  must  become — one  of 
the  leaders  of  the  people." 

Pride  fell  prone,  like  Dagon — before  these  words. 
Dick  succumbed  to  the  gracious  influence  of  a  charm- 
ing woman. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  reddening,  because  it  is  humiliat- 
ing to  seek  help  of  a  girl,  "  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do." 

"  You  are  ambitious,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied  coldly,  "I  am  ambitious.  I  don't 
tell  them  outside,"  he  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoul- 
der to  indicate  the  Advanced  Club,  "  but  I  mean  to  get 
into  the  'Ouse — I  mean  the  House."  One  of  his  little 
troubles  was  the  correction  of  certain  peculiarities  of 
speech  common  among  his  class.  It  was  his  cousin  who 
first  directed  his  attention  to  this  point. 

"  Yes :  there  is  no  reason  wh}'  you  should  not  get  into 
the  House,"  said  Angela.  "But  it  would  be  a  thou- 
sand pities  if  vou  should  get  in  j'et." 

"Why  should  I  wait,  if  they  will  elect  me?" 

"  Because,  Mr.  Coppin,  you  must  not  try  to  lead  the 
people  till  you  know  whither  j^ou  would  lead  them :  be- 
cause you  must  not  pretend  to  represent  the  people  till 
you  have  learned  their  condition  and  their  wants ;  be- 
cause 5'ou  must  not  presume  to  offer  yourself  till  you 
are  prepared  with  a  programme." 

"  Yet  plenty  of  others  do. " 

"They  do;  but  what  else  have  they  done?" 

"  Only  tell  me — then — tell  me  what  to  do.  Am  I  to 
read?" 

"  No ;  you  have  read  enough  for  the  present.     Rest 


3;J0  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

your  eyes  from  books;  open  them  to  the  world;  see 
things  as  they  are.  Look  out  of  this  window.  What 
do  you  see?" 

"Nothing;  a  row  of  houses;  a  street;  a  road." 

"  I  see,  besides,  that  the  houses  are  mean,  dirty,  and 
void  of  beauty  :  but  I  see  more.  I  see  an  organ  player ; 
on  the  curbstone  the  little  girls  are  dancing;  in  the 
road  the  ragged  boys  are  playing.  Look  at  the  freedom 
of  the  girls'  limbs;  look  at  the  careless  grace  of  the 
children.  Do  you  know  how  clever  they  are?  Some 
of  them,  who  sleep  where  they  can  and  live  as  they  can, 
can  pick  pockets  at  three,  go  shop-lifting  at  four,  plot 
and  make  conspiracies  at  five;  see  how  they  run  and 
jump  and  cHmb. " 

"  I  see  them.  They  are  everywhere.  How  can  we 
help  that?" 

"  You  would  leave  these  poor  children  to  the  Govern- 
ment and  the  police.  Yet  I  think  a  better  way  to  re- 
deem these  little  ones  is  for  the  working-men  to  resolve 
together  that  they  shall  be  taken  care  of,  taught,  and 
apprenticed.  Spelling,  v/hich  your  cousin  says  consti- 
tutes most  of  the  School  Board  education,  does  not  so 
much  matter.  Take  them  off  the  streets  and  train  them 
to  a  trade.  Do  you  ever  walk  about  the  streets  at  night? 
Be  your  own  police  and  make  your  streets  clean.  Do 
you  ever  go  into  the  courts  and  places  where  the  dock 
laborers  sleep?  Have  a  committee  for  every  one  such 
street  or  court,  and  make  them  decent.  When  a  gang 
of  roughs  make  the  pavement  intolerable,  you  decent 
men  step  off  and  leave  them  to  the  policeman,  if  he 
dares  interfere.  Put  down  the  roughs  yourselves  with 
a  strong  hand.  Clear  out  the  thieves'  dens,  and  the 
drinking  shops ;  make  roughs  and  vagabonds  go  else- 
where, lam  always  about  among  the  people ;  they  are 
full  of  sufferings  which  need  not  be ;  there  are  a  great 
many  workers — ladies,  priests,  clergymen — among  them 
trying  to  remove  some  of  the  suffering.  But  why  do 
you  not  do  this  for  j^ourselves?  Be  your  own  almoners. 
I  find  everywhere,  too,  courage  and  honesty,  and  a  de- 
sire for  better  things.  Show  them  how  their  lot  may 
be  alleviated." 

"But  I  don't  know  how,"  he  replied,  humbly. 

"You  must  find  out,  if  you  would  be  their  leader. 


ALL  SORTS  AyD  C'OXDITIONS  OF  MEN.  331 

And  you  must  have  sympatli}-.  Never  was  there  yet  a 
leader  of  the  people  who  did  not  feel  with  them  as  they 
feej." 

This  saying  was  too  hard  for  the  young  man,  who 
had,  he  knew,  felt  hitherto  only  for  himself. 

"  You  say  what  Harry  sa3^s.     I  sometimes  think " 

he  stopped  short,  as  if  an  idea  had  suddenly  occurred  to 
him.  "Look  here,  is  it  true  that  you  and  Harry  are 
keeping  company?" 

"  No,  we  are  not,"  Angela  replied  with  a  blush. 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  were.     Is  it  off,  then?" 

"  It  never  was — more — on — than  it  is  at  present,  Mr. 
Coppin." 

"  Oh !"  he  looked  doubtful.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  sup- 
pose there  is  no  reason  why  a  girl  should  tell  a  lie  about 
such  a  simple  thing."  He  certainly  was  a  remarkably 
rude  voung  man.  "  Either  you  are,  or  you  ain't. 
That's  it,  isn't  it?     And  you  ain't?" 

"We  are  not,"  said  Angela,  with  a  little  blush,  for 
the  facts  of  the  case  were,  from  one  point  of  view, 
against  her. 

"  Then  if  you  are  not — I  dou't  care — though  it's 
against  my  rules,  and  I  did  say  I  would  never  be  both- 
ered with  a  woman.  .  .  .  Look  here — you  and  me 
will." 

"  Will  what?" 

"Will  keep  company,"  he  replied  firmly.  "Oh!  I 
know  it's  a  great  chance  for  you — but  tlien,  you  see, 
you  ain't  like  the  rest  of  'em,  and  you  know  things, 
somehow,  that  may  be  usef  id — thougli  how  you  learned 
'em,  nor  where  you  came  from,  nor  what's  j^our  char- 
acter— there — I  don't  care,  we'll  keep  company!" 

"Oh!" 

"Yes;  we'll  begin  next  Sunday.  You'll  be  useful  to 
me,  so  that  the  bargain  is  not  all  one  side."  It  was 
not  till  afterward  that  Angela  felt  the  full  force  of  this 
remark.  "  As  for  getting  married,  there's  no  hurr}- ; 
we'll  talk  about  that  when  I'm  member.  Of  course  it 
would  be  silly  to  get  married  now." 

"  Of  course, "  said  Angela. 

"  Let's  get  well  up  the  tree  first.  Lord  help  you ! 
how  could  I  climb,  to  say  nothing  o'  you,  with  a  round 
half-dozen  o'  babies  at  my  heels?" 


333  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  But,  Mr.  Coppin,"  she  said,  putting  aside  these  pos- 
sibilities, "  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  cannot  possibly  keep 
company  with  jou.  There  is  a  reason — I  cannot  tell 
you  what  it  is — but  you  must  put  that  out  of  your 
thoughts." 

" Oh!"  his  face  fell,  " if  you  won't,  you  won't.  Most 
girls  jump  at  a  man  who's  in  good  wages  and  a  tem- 
perance man,  and  sought  after,  like  me.  But — there — 
if  you  won't,  there's  an  end.  I'm  not  going  to  waste 
my  time  cryin'  after  any  girl." 

"We  will  remain  friends,  Mr.  Coppin?"  She  held  out 
her  hand. 

"  Friends?  what's  that?  We  might  ha'  been  pals — I 
mean  partners." 

"  But  I  can  tell  you  all  I  think ;  I  can  advise  you  in 
my  poor  way  still,  whenever  you  please  to  ask  my  ad- 
vice, even  if  I  do  not  share  your  greatness.  And  be- 
lieve me,  Mr.  Coppin,  that  I  most  earnestly  desire  to 
see  you  not  only  in  the  House,  but  a  real  leader  of  the 
people,  such  a  leader  as  the  world  has  never  yet  beheld. 
To  begin  with,  you  will  be  a  man  of  the  very  people. " 

"  Ay !"  he  said,  " one  of  themselves !" 

"  A  man  not  to  be  led  out  of  his  way  by  flatterers." 

"No,"  he  said  with  a  superior  smile,  "no  one,  man 
or  woman,  can  flatter  me." 

"  A  man  who  knows  the  restless  unsatisfied  yearnings 
of  the  people,  and  what  they  mean,  and  has  found  out 
how  they  may  be  satisfied." 

"Ye — yes!"  he  replied,  doubtfully,  "certainly." 

"  A  man  who  will  lead  the  people  to  get  wha^*  is  good 
for  themselves  and  by  themselves,  without  the  help  of 
Government." 

And  no  thunders  in  the  Commons?  No  ringing  de- 
nunciation of  the  Hereditary  House?  Nothing  at  all 
that  he  had  looked  to  do  and  to  say?  Call  this  a  leader- 
ship? But  he  thought  of  the  Chartist  and  his  new 
methods.  By  different  roads,  said  Montaigne,  we  ar- 
rive at  the  same  end. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  333 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

WHAT   WILL  BE   THE   END? 

The  end  of  the  year  drew  near — the  end  of  that  last 
year  of  '81,  which,  whatever  its  shortcomings,  its  burn- 
ing heat  of  July  and  its  wretched  rain  of  August,  went 
out  in  sweet  and  gracious  sunshine,  and  a  December 
like  unto  the  April  of  a  poet. 

For  six  months  Angela  had  been  living  among  her 
girls.  The  place  was  become  homelike  to  her.  The 
workwomen  were  now  her  friends — her  trusted  friends. 
The  voice  of  calumny  about  her  antecedents  was  silent, 
unless  it  was  the  voice  of  Bunker.  The  Palace  of  De- 
light (whose  meaning  was  as  yet  unknown  and  unsus- 
pected, was  rising  rapidly,  and  indeed  was  nearly  com- 
plete— a  shell  which  had  to  be  filled  with  things  beauti- 
ful and  delightful,  of  which  Angela  did  not  trust  her- 
self to  speak.  She  had  a  great  deal  to  think  of  in  those 
last  days  of  the  year  '81.  The  dressmaking  was  noth- 
ing— that  went  on.  There  was  some  local  custom,  and 
more  Avas  promised.  It  seemed  as  if  (on  the  soundest 
principles  of  economy)  it  would  actually  pa\\  There 
was  a  verj^  large  acquaintance  made  at  odd  times  among 
the  small  streets  and  mean  houses  of  Stepney.  It  was 
necessary  to  visit  these  people  and  to  talk  with  them. 

Angela  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  ordinary  channels 
of  charity.  She  would  help  neither  curate  nor  Sister  of 
Mercy,  nor  Bible-woman.  Why,  she  said,  do  not  the 
people  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  and  help  themselves? 
To  be  sure,  she  had  the  great  advantage  over  profes- 
sional visitors  that  she  was  herself  only  a  work-woman, 
and  was  not  paid  for  any  services;  and,  as  if  there  was 
not  alread}'  enough  to  make  her  anxious,  there  was  that 
lover  of  hers. 

Were  she  and  Harry  keeping  company?  Dick  Cop- 
pin  asked  this  question;  and  Angela  (not  altogether 
truthfullj-)  said  that  they  were  not.  What  else  were 
they  doing,  indeed?  No  word  of  love  now.  Had  he 
not  promised  to  abstain?  Yet  she  knew  his  past — she 
knew  what  he  had  given  up  for  her  sake,  believing  her 


334  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

only  a  poor  dressmaker;  all  for  love  of  her,  and  she 
could  not  choose  but  let  her  heart  go  forth  to  so  loyal 
and  true  a  lover.  Many  ladies,  in  many  tales  of  chiv- 
alry, have  demanded  strange  services  from  their  lovers : 
none  so  strange  as  that  asked  by  Angela  when  she 
ordered  her  lover  not  only  to  pretend  to  be  a  cabinet- 
maker, and  a  joiner,  but  to  work  at  his  trade  and  to 
live  by  it.  Partly  in  self-reproach — partly  in  admira- 
tion— she  watched  him  going  and  coming  to  and  from 
the  Brewer}^  where  he  now  earned  (thanks  to  Lord 
Jocelyn's  intervention)  the  sum  of  a  whole  shilling  an 
hour.  For  there  was  nothing  in  his  bearing  or  his  talk 
to  show  that  he  repented  his  decision.  He  was  always 
cheerful,  always  of  good  courage — more,  he  was  always 
in  attendance  on  her.  It  was  he  who  thought  for 
her ;  invented  plans  to  make  her  evenings  attractive ; 
brought  raw  lads  (recruits  in  the  army  of  culture)  from 
the  Advanced  Club  and  elsewhere,  and  set  them  an 
example  of  good  manners ;  and  was  her  prime  minister, 
her  aide-de-camp,  her  chief  vizier. 

And  the  end  of  it  all — nay,  the  thing  itself  being  so 
pleasant,  why  hasten  the  end?  And,  if  there  was  to 
be  an  end,  could  it  not  be  connected  with  the  opening  of 
the  Palace?  Yes.  When  the  Palace  was  ready  to  open 
its  gates  then  would  Angela  open  her  arms. 

For  the  moment  it  was  the  sweet  twilight  of  love — the 
half-hour  before  the  dawn.  The  sweet  uncertainty, 
when  all  was  certainty.  And,  as  yet,  the  palace  was 
only  just  receiving  its  roof.  The  fittings  and  decora- 
tions, the  organ  and  the  statues,  and  all,  had  still  to  be 
put  in.  When  everything  was  read}",  tlien — then — 
Angela  would  somehow,  perhaps,  find  words  to  bid  her 
lover  be  happy,  if  she  could  make  him  happ3^ 

There  could  be  but  one  end. 

Angela  came  to  Whitechapel  incognito — a  princess 
disguised  as  a  milkmaid ;  partly  out  of  curiosity,  partly 
to  try  her  little  experiment  for  the  good  of  work-girls, 
with  the  gayety  and  light  heart  of  youth — thinking  that 
before  long  she  would  return  to  her  old  place,  just  as 
she  had  left  it.  But  she  could  not.  Her  old  views  of 
life  were  changed,  and  a  man  had  changed  them.  More 
than  that — a  man  whose  society,  whose  strength,  whose 
counsel  had  become  necessarv  to  her. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  335 

"Who,"  she  asked  herself,  "would  have  thought  of 
the  Palace  except  hiniV  Could  I,  could  any  woman? 
I  could  have  given  away  money — that  is  all.  I  could 
have  been  robbed  and  cheated;  but  such  an  idea — so 
grand,  so  simple;  it  is  a  man's,  not  a  woman's.  When 
the  Palace  is  completed;  when  all  is  ready  for  the  open- 
ing, then "     And  the  air  became  musical  with  the 

clang  and  clash  of  wedding  bells — up  the  scale,  down 
tlie  scale;  in  thirds,  in  fifths;  with  triple  bob-majors 
and  the  shouts  of  the  people,  and  the  triumphant  strains 
of  a  wedding  march. 

How  could  there  be  any  end  but  one? — seeing  that 
not  only  did  this  young  man  present  himself  nearly  ev- 
ery evening  at  the  drawing-room,  when  he  was  recog- 
nized as  the  director  of  ceremonies  or  the  leader  of  the 
cotillon  or  deviser  of  sports,  from  an  acting  proverb 
to  a  madrigal ;  but  that  later  the  custom  was  firmly  es- 
tablished that  he  and  Angela  should  spend  their  Sun- 
days together.  When  it  rained,  they  went  to  church 
together,  and  had  readings  in  the  drawing-room  in  the 
afternoon,  with,  perhaps,  a  little  concert  in  the  even- 
ing, of  sacred  music,  to  which  some  of  the  girls  would 
come.  If  the  day  was  sunny  and  bright,  there  were 
many  places  where  they  might  go — for  the  East  is 
richer  than  the  West  in  pretty  and  accessible  country 
places.  They  would  take  the  tram  along  the  Mile  End 
Road,  past  the  delightful  old  church  of  Bow,  to  Star- 
ing Stratford,  with  its  fine  town-hall  and  its  round 
dozen  of  churches  and  chapels ;  a  town  of  50, 000  people, 
and  quite  a  genteel  place,  whose  residents  preserve  the 
primitive  custom  of  fetching  the  dinner-beer  them- 
selves from  its  native  public-houses  on  Sunday,  after 
church.  At  Stratford  there  are  a  good  many  ways  open 
if  you  are  a  good  walker,  as  Angela  was. 

You  may  take  the  Romford  road,  and  jiresently  turn 
to  the  left  and  find  yourself  in  a  grand  old  forest  (only 
there  is  not  much  of  it  left)  called  Hainault  Forest. 
When  you  have  crossed  the  Forest  you  get  to  Chigwell ; 
and  then,  if  you  are  wise,  you  will  take  another  six 
miles  (as  Angela  and  Harr}^  generalh'  did)  and  get  to 
Epping,  where  the  toothsome  steak  may  be  found,  or 
haply  the  simple  cold  beef — not  to  be  despised  after  a 
fifteen  miles'   walk — and  so  home  by  tram.     Or  you 


836  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

may  take  the  Northern  road  at  Stratford,  and  walk 
through  Lej^tonstone  and  Woodford;  and,  leaving  Ep- 
ping  Forest  on  the  right,  walk  along  the  bank  of  the 
River  Lea  till  3'ou  come  to  Waltham  Abbey,  where 
there  is  a  church  to  be  seen,  and  a  cross  and  other  mar- 
vels. Or  you  may  go  still  further  afield  and  take  train 
all  the  way  to  Ware,  and  walk  through  country  roads 
and  pleasant  lanes,  if  you  have  a  map,  to  stately  Hat- 
field, and  on  to  St.  Albans ;  but  do  not  try  to  dine  there, 
even  if  you  are  only  one-and-twenty,  and  a  girl. 

All  these  walks  and  many  more  were  taken  by  An- 
gela with  her  companion  on  that  blessed  day,  which 
should  be  spent  for  good  of  body  as  well  as  soul.  They 
are  walks  which  are  beautiful  in  the  winter  as  well  as 
in  the  summer — though  the  trees  are  leafless,  there  is 
an  underwood  faintly  colored  with  its  winter  tint  of 
purple;  and  there  are  stretches  of  springy  turf  and 
bushes  hung  with  catkins;  and,  above  all,  there  was 
nobody  in  the  Forest  or  on  the  roads  except  Angela  and 
Harry.  Sometimes  night  fell  on  them  when  they  were 
three  or  four  miles  from  Epi^ing.  Then,  as  they  walked 
in  the  twilight,  the  trees  on  either  hand  silently  glided 
past  them  like  ghosts,  and  the  mist  rose  and  made 
things  look  shadowy  and  large;  and  the  sense  of  an 
endless  pilgrimage  fell  upon  them — as  if  they  would  al- 
ways go  on  like  this,  side  by  side.  Then  their  hearts 
would  glow  within  them,  and  they  would  talk;  and  the 
girl  would  think  it  no  shame  to  reveal  the  secret  thoughts 
of  her  heart,  although  the  man  with  her  was  not  her 
accepted  lover. 

As  for  her  reputation,  where  was  it?  Not  gone,  in- 
deed, because  no  one  among  her  old  friends  knew  of 
these  walks  and  this  companionship,  but  in  grievous 
peril. 

Or,  when  the  day  was  cloudy,  there  was  the  city.  T 
declare  there  is  no  place  which  contains  more  delightful 
walks  for  a  cloudy  Sunday  forenoon,  when  the  clang  of 
the  bells  has  finished,  and  the  scanty  worshippers  are  in 
their  places,  and  the  sleepy  sextons  have  shut  the  doors, 
than  the  streets  and  lanes  of  the  old  city. 

You  must  go  as  Harry  did,  provided  with  something 
of  ancient  lore,  otherwise  the  most  beautiful  places  will 
quite  certainh^  be  thrown  awaj^  and  lost  for  you.    Take 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  337 

that  riverside  walk  from  Billingsgate  to  Blackfriars. 
\Vliy,  here  were  the  quays,  the  ports,  the  whole  com- 
merce of  the  city  in  the  good  old  daj's.  Here  was  Cold 
Herbergh,  that  great  many-gabled  house,  where  Harr}', 
Prince  of  Wales,  "  carried  on"  with  Falstaff  and  his 
merry  crew.  Here  was  Queen  Hithe — here  Dowgate 
with  Walbrook.  Here  Baynard's  Castle,  and  close  by 
the  Tower  of  Montfichet ;  also,  a  little  to  the  north,  a 
thousand  places  dear  to  the  antiquarian — even  though 
they  have  pulled  down  so  much.  There  is  Tower 
Ro3'al,  where  Richard  the  Second  lodged  his  mother. 
There  is  the  Church  of  Whittington,  close  by  the  place 
where  his  college  stood.  There  are  the  precincts  of 
Paul's,  and  the  famous  street  of  Chepe.  Do  people 
ever  think  what  things  have  been  done  in  Chepe? 
There  is  Austin  Friars,  with  its  grand  old  church  now 
given  to  the  Dutch,  and  its  quiet  city  square,  where 
only  a  few  j'ears  ago  lived  Lettice  Langton  (of  whom 
some  of  us  have  heard).  There  is  Tower  Hill,  on  which 
was  the  residence  of  Alderman  Medlycott,  guardian  of 
Nelly  Carellis;  and  west  of  Paul's  there  is  the  place 
where  )nce  stood  the  house  of  Dr.  Gregory  Shovel,  who 
received  the  orphan  Kitty  Pleydell.  But,  indeed,  there 
is  no  end  to  the  histories  and  associations  of  the  city ; 
and  a  man  may  give  his  life  profitably  to  the  mastery 
and  myster}"  of  its  winding  streets. 

Here  they  would  wander  in  the  quiet  Sunda}'  fore- 
noon, while  their  footsteps  echoed  in  the  deserted  street, 
and  they  would  walk  fearless  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
while  they  talked  of  the  great  town,  and  its  million 
dwellers,  who  come  like  the  birds  in  the  morning,  and 
vanish  like  the  birds  in  the  evening. 

Or  they  would  cross  the  river  and  wander  up  and 
down  the  quaint  old  town  of  Rotherhithe,  or  visit  South- 
wark,  the  town  of  hops  and  malt,  and  all  kinds  of 
strange  things;  or  Deptford,  the  deserted,  or  even 
Greenwich;  and  if  it  was  rainy  they  would  go  to 
church.  There  are  a  great  manj^  places  of  worship 
about  Whitechapel,  and  man}^  forms  of  creed,  from  the 
Baptist  to  the  man  with  the  biretta;  and  it  would  be 
dfficult  to  select  one  which  is  more  confident  than  an- 
other of  possessing  the  real  Philosopher's  Stone — the 
thing  for  which  we  are  always  searching,  the  whole 


338  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

truth.  And  everywhere  church  and  chapel  filled  with 
the  well-to-do  and  the  respectable,  and  a  sprinkling  of 
the  very  poor ;  but  of  the  working-men — none. 

"Why  have  they  all  given  up  religion?"  asked  An- 
gela. "  Why  should  the  work-men  all  over  the  world 
feel  no  need  of  religion — if  it  were  only  the  religious 
emotion?" 

Harry,  who  had  answers  ready  for  many  questions, 
could  find  none  for  this.  He  asked  his  cousin  Dick, 
but  he  could  not  tell.  Personally,  he  said,  he  had  some- 
thing els3  to  do;  but  if  the  women  wanted  to  go  to 
church  they  might.  And  so  long  as  the  parsons  and 
priests  did  not  meddle  with  him,  he  should  not  meddle 
with  them. 

But  these  statements  hardly  seemed  an  answer  to 
the  question.  Perhaps  in  Berlin  or  in  Paris  they  could 
explain  more  clearly  how  this  strange  thing  has  come 
to  pass. 


CHAPTER   XXXVn. 

TRUTH   WITH   FAITHFULNESS, 

To  possess  pure  truth — and  to  know  it — is  a  thing 
which  affects  people  in  two  ways,  both  of  them  uncom- 
fortable to  their  fellow-creatures.  It  impels  some  to 
go  pointing  out  the  purity  of  truth  to  the  world  at 
large,  insisting  upon  it,  dragging  unwilling  people 
along  the  road  which  leads  to  it,  and  dwelling  upon  the 
dangers  which  attend  the  neglect  of  so  great  a  chance. 
Others  it  affects  wdth  a  calm  and  comfortable  sense  of 
superiority.  The  latter  was  Rebekah's  state  of  mind. 
To  be  a  Seventh  Day  Independent  was  only  one  degree 
removed  from  belonging  to  the  Chosen  People,  to  begin 
with :  and  that  there  is  but  one  chapel  in  all  England 
where  the  truth  reposes  for  a  space  as  the  Ark  of  the 
Covenant  reposed  in  Shiloh,  "in  curtains,"  is,  if  you 
please,  a  thing  to  be  proud  of!  It  brings  with  it  eleva- 
tion of  soul. 

There  is  at  present,  whatever  there  may  once  have 
been,  no  proselytizing  zeal  about  the  Seventh  Day  Inde- 
pendents;   they  are,  in  fact,  a  torpid   bod}-;    they  are 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  3:59 

contented  with  the  conviction — a  very  comforting  one, 
and  possessed  by  other  creeds  besides  their  own — that, 
sooner  or  later,  the  whole  world  will  embrace  their 
faith.  Perhaps  the  Jews  look  forward  to  a  day  when, 
in  addition  to  the  Restoration,  which  they  profess  to 
desire,  all  mankind  will  become  proselytes  in  the  court 
of  the  Gentiles :  it  is  something  little  short  of  this  thiit 
the  congregation  of  Seventh  Day  Independents  expect 
in  the  dim  future.  What  a  splendid,  what  a  magnifi- 
cent field  for  glory — call  it  not  vain-glory ! — does  this 
conviction  present  to  the  humble  believer !  There  are, 
again,  so  very  few  of  them,  that  each  one  may  feel 
himself  a  visible  pillar  of  the  Catholic  Church,  bearing 
on  his  shoulders  a  perceptible  and  measurable  quantity 
of  weight.  Each  is  an  Atlas.  It  is,  moreover,  i3leas- 
ing  to  read  the  Holy  Scriptures,  especially  the  books  of 
the  Prophets,  as  written  especially  for  a  Connection 
which  numbers  just  one  chapel  in  Great  Britain  and 
seven  in  the  United  States.  How  grand  is  the  name  of 
Catholic  applied  to  just  one  church !  Catholicity  is  as 
yet  all  to  come,  and  exists  only  as  a  germ  or  seedling ! 
The  early  Christians  may  have  experienced  the  same 
delight. 

Rebekah,  best  and  most  careful  of  shopwomen  and 
accountants,  showed  her  religious  superiority  more  by 
the  silence  of  contempt  than  by  zeal  for  conversion. 
When  Captain  Tom  Coppin,  for  instance,  was  preach- 
ing to  the  girls,  she  went  on  with  her  figures,  casting 
up,  ruling  in  red  ink,  carrying  forward  in  methodical 
fashion,  as  if  his  words  could  not  possibly  have  any 
concern  with  her;  and  when  a  church  bell  rang,  or  any 
words  were  spoken  about  other  forms  of  worship,  she 
became  suddenly  deaf  and  blind  and  cold.  But  she  en- 
treated Angela  to  attend  their  services.  "We  want 
everybody  to  come, "  she  said ;  '"  we  only  ask  for  a  single 
hearing;  come  and  hear  my  father  preach." 

She  believed  in  the  faith  of  the  Seventh  Day.  As  for 
her  father — when  a  man  is  paid  to  advocate  the  cause 
of  an  eccentric  or  a  ridiculous  form  of  belief;  when  he 
has  to  plead  that  cause  week  b}-  week  to  the  same  slen- 
der following,  to  pro}i  up  the  limp,  and  to  keep  together 
l)is  small  l)ody  of  believers:  when  he  has  to  maintain  a 
show   of   hopefulness,  to   strengthen   the   wavering,  to 


340  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  JIEX. 

confirm  the  strong,  to  encourage  his  sheep  in  confi- 
dence ;  when  he  gets  too  old  for  anything  else,  and  his 
daily  bread  depends  upon  this  creed  and  no  other — who 
shall  say  what,  after  a  wdiile,  that  man  believes  or  does 
not  believe?  Red-hot  Avords  fall  from  his  lips,  but  they 
fall  equally  red-hot  each  week ;  his  arguments  are  con- 
clusive, but  they  were  equally  conclusive  last  week;  his 
logic  is  irresistible;  his  encouragement  is  warm  and 
glowing;  but  logic  and  encouragement  alike  are  those 
of  last  week  and  many  weeks  ago.  Surelj",  surely  there 
is  no  worse  fate  possible  for  any  man  than  to  preach, 
week  by  week,  any  form  whatever  of  dogmatic  belief, 
and  to  live  by  it ;  surely,  nothing  can  be  more  deadly 
than  to  simulate  zeal,  to  suppress  doubt,  to  pretend  cer- 
tainty. But  this  is  dangerous  ground,  because  others 
besides  Seventh  Da)"  Independents  may  feel  that  they 
are  upon  it,  and  that  beneath  them  ane  quagmires. 

"Come,"  said  Rebekah.  "We  want  nothing  but  a 
fair  hearing." 

Their  chapel  was  endowed,  which  doubtless  helped 
the  flock  to  keep  together.  It  had  a  hundred  and  ten 
pounds  a  year  belonging  to  it,  and  a  little  house  for  the 
minister,  and  there  were  scanty  pew  rents,  which  al- 
most paid  for  the  maintenance  of  the  fabric  and  the  old 
woman  who  cleaned  the  windows  and  dusted  the  pews. 
If  the  Reverend  Percival  Hermitage  gave  up  that 
chapel  he  would  have  no  means  of  subsistence  at  all. 
Let  us  not  impute  motives.  No  doubt  he  firmly  be- 
lieved what  he  taught;  but  his  words,  like  his  creed, 
were  stereotyped ;  they  had  long  ceased  to  be  persuasive ; 
they  now  served  onl}-  to  preserve. 

If  Angela  had  accepted  that  invitation  for  any  given 
day  there  would  have  been,  she  knew  very  well,  a  ser- 
mon for  the  occasion,  conceived,  written,  and  argued 
out  expressly  for  herself.  And  this  she  did  not  want. 
Therefore,  she  said  nothing  at  all  of  her  intentions,  but 
chose  one  Saturday  when  there  was  little  doing  and  she 
could  spare  a  forenoon  for  her  visit. 

The  chapel  of  the  Seventh  Day  Independents  stands 
at  Redman's  Lane,  close  to  the  Advanced  Club  House. 
It  is  a  structure  extremely  plain  and  modest  in  design. 
It  was  built  by  an  architect  who  entertained  humble 
views — perhaps  he  was  a  Churchman — concerning  the 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  841 

possible  extension  of  the  Connection,  because  the  whole 
chapel  if  quite  filled  would  not  hold  more  than  two  hun- 
dred people.  The  front,  or  fagade,  is  tlat,  consisting  of 
a  surface  of  gray  brick  wall,  with  a  door  in  the  middle 
and  two  circular  windows,  one  on  each  sMe.  Over  the 
door  there  are  two  dates — one  of  erection,  the  other  of 
restoration.  The  chapel  within  is  a  well-proportioned 
room,  with  a  neat  gallerj"  running  round  three  sides, 
resting  on  low  pillars,  and  painted  a  warm  and  cheerful 
drab ;  the  pews  are  painted  of  the  same  color.  At  the 
back  are  two  windows  with  semi-circular  arches,  and 
between  the  windows  stands  a  small  railed  platform 
with  a  reading-desk  upon  it  for  the  minister.  Beside 
it  are  high  seats  with  cushions  for  elders,  or  other  min- 
isters if  there  should  be  any.  But  these  seats  have 
never  been  occupied  in  the  memory  of  man.  The  pews 
are  ranged  in  front  of  the  jilatform,  and  they  are  of  the 
old  and  high-backed  kind.  It  is  a  wonderful — a  truly 
wonderful — thing  that  clergymen,  priests,  ministers, 
padres,  rabbis,  and  church  architects,  with  church- 
wardens, sidesmen,  vergers,  bishops,  and  chapel-keep- 
ers of  all  persuasions,  are  agreed,  whatever  their  other 
differences,  in  the  unalterable  conviction  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  be  religious,  that  is,  to  attend  services  in  a 
proper  frame  of  mind,  unless  one  is  uncomfortable. 
Therefore  we  are  offered  a  choice.  We  ma}^  sit  in 
high-backed,  narrow-seated  pews,  or  we  ma}''  sit  on  low- 
backed,  narrow-seated  benches :  but  sit  in  comfort  we 
may  not.  The  Seventh  Day  people  have  got  the  high- 
backed  pew  (which  catches  you  on  the  shoulder-blade 
and  tries  the  backbone,  and  affects  the  brain,  causing 
softening  in  the  long  run)  and  the  narrow  seat  (which 
drags  the  muscles  and  brings  on  premature  paralysis  of 
the  lower  limbs).  The  equally  narrow,  low-backed 
bench  produces  injurious  effects  of  a  different  kind,  but 
similarlj'  pernicious.  How  would  it  be  to  furnish  one 
aisle,  at  least,  of  a  church  with  broad,  low,  and  com- 
fortable chairs  having  arms?  The}'  should  be  reserved 
for  the  poor  who  have  so  few  easy-chairs  of  their  own. 
Rightly  managed  and  properly  advertised,  they  might 
help  toward  a  revival  of  religion  among  the  working 
classes. 

Above  the  reading  platform  in  the  little  chapel  they 


343  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

have  caused  to  be  painted  on  the  wall  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments— the  fourth  emphasized  in  red — with  a  text 
or  two,  bearing  on  their  distinctive  doctrine;  and  in 
the  corner  is  a  little  door  leading  to  a  little  vestry ;  but, 
as  there  are  no  vestments,  its  use  is  not  apparent. 

As  for  the  position  taken  by  these  people  it  is  per- 
fectly logical,  and,  in  fact,  impregnable.  There  is  no 
answer  to  it.  They  say,  "  Here  is  the  Fourth  Com- 
mandment. All  the  rest  you  continue  to  observe. 
Why  not  this?  When  was  it  repealed  ?  And  by 
whom?"  If  you  put  these  questions  to  Bishop  or  Pres- 
byter, he  has  no  reply.  Because  that  law  has  never 
been  repealed.  Yet  as  the  people  of  the  Connection 
complain,  though  they  have  reason  and  logic  on  their 
side,  the  outside  world  will  not  listen,  and  go  on  break- 
ing the  commandment  with  a  light  and  unthinking 
heart.  It  is  a  dreadful  responsibilit37- — albeit  a  grand 
thing — to  be  in  possession  of  so  simple  a  truth  of  such 
vast  importance ;  and  yet  to  get  nobody  ever  to  listen. 
The  case  is  worse  even  than  that  of  Daniel  Fagg. 

Angela  noted  all  these  things  as  she  entered  the  little 
chapel  a  short  time  after  the  service  had  commenced. 
It  was  bewildering  to  step  out  of  the  noisy  streets, 
where  the  current  of  Saturday  morning  was  at  flood, 
into  this  quiet  room  with  its  strange  service  and  its 
strange  flock  of  Nonconformists.  The  thing,  at  first, 
felt  like  a  dream :  the  people  seemed  like  the  ghosts  of 
an  unquiet  mind. 

There  were  very  few  worshippers ;  she  counted  them 
all :  four  elderly  men,  two  elderly  women,  three  young 
men,  two  girls,  one  of  whom  was  Rebekah,  and  five 
boys.  Sixteen  in  all.  And  standing  on  the  platform 
was  their  leader. 

Rebekah's  father,  the  Rev.  Percival  Hermitage,  was 
a  shepherd  who  from  choice  led  his  flock  gently,  along 
peaceful  meadows  and  in  shady,  quiet  places ;  he  had 
no  prophetic  fire;  he  had  evidently  long  since  acqui- 
esced in  a  certain  fact  that  under  him,  at  least,  what- 
ever it  might  do  under  others,  the  Connection  would 
not  greatly  increase.  Perhaps  he  did  not  himself  de- 
sire an  increase,  which  would  give  him  more  work. 
Perhaps  he  never  had  much  enthusiasm.  By  the  sim- 
ple accident  of  birth  he  was  a  Seventh  Day  Christian ; 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  843 

being  of  a  bookish  and  unambitious  turn,  and  of  an  in- 
dolent habit  of  bod}^,  mentally  and  physically  unfitted 
for  the  life  of  a  shop,  he  entered  the  ministry ;  in  course 
of  time  he  got  this  chapel,  where  he  remained,  tolerably 
satisfied  with  his  lot  in  life,  a  simple,  self-educated, 
mildly  pious  person,  equipped  with  the  phrases  of  his 
craft,  and  comforted  with  tiie  consciousness  of  superior- 
ity and  separation.  He  looked  up  from  his  book  in 
gentle  surprise  when  Angela  entered  the  chapel.  It 
was  seldom  that  a  stranger  was  seen  there — once,  not 
long  ago,  there  was  a  boy  who  had  put  his  head  in  at 
the  door  and  shouted  "  Hoo !"  and  ran  away  again; 
once  there  was  a  drunken  sailor  who  thought  it  was  a 
public-house,  and  sat  dov/n  and  began  to  sing  and 
wouldn't  go,  and  had  to  be  shoved  out  by  the  united 
efforts  of  the  whole  small  congregation.  When  he  was 
gone  they  sang  an  extra  hymn  to  restore  a  religious 
calm — but  never  a  young  lad}'  before.  Angela  took  her 
seat  amid  the  wondering  looks  of  the  people,  and  the 
minister  went  on  in  a  perfunctory  way  with  his  prayers 
and  his  hymns  and  his  exposition.  There  certainly  did 
seem  to  an  outsider  a  want  of  heart  about  the  service,  but 
that  might  have  been  due  to  the  emptiness  of  the  pews. 
When  it  came  to  the  sermon,  Angela  thought  the 
preacher  spoke  and  looked  as  if  the  limit  of  endurance 
had  at  last  almost  arrived,  and  he  would  not  much  longer 
endure  the  inexpressible  dreariness  of  the  conventicle. 
It  was  not  so ;  he  was  always  mildly  sad ;  he  seemed 
alwaj's  a  little  bored ;  it  was  no  use  pretending  to  be 
eloquent  any  more ;  fireworks  were  thrown  away;  and 
as  for  what  he  had  to  say,  the  congregation  always  had 
the  same  thing,  looked  for  the  same  thing,  and  would 
have  risen  in  revolt  at  the  suggestion  of  a  new  thing. 
His  sermon  was  neither  better  nor  worse  than  \wa.Y  be 
heard  any  day  in  church  or  chapel ;  nor  was  there  any- 
thing in  it  to  distinguish  it  from  the  sermons  of  any 
other  body  of  Christians.  The  outsider  left  off  listen- 
ing and  began  to  think  of  the  congregation.  In  the 
pew  with  her  was  a  man  of  sixtj^  or  so,  with  long  black 
hair  streaked  with  gray,  brushed  back  behind  his  ears. 
He  was  devout  and  followed  the  prayers  audibly,  and 
sang  the  hymns  out  of  a  manuscript  music-book,  and 
read  the  text  critically.    His  face  was  the  face  of  a  bull- 


344  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

dog  for  resolution.  The  man,  she  thought,  u'ould  enjoy 
going  to  the  stake  for  his  opinions,  and  if  tlie  Seventi» 
Da}'  Independents  were  to  be  made  the  National  Estab- 
lished Church  he  would  secede  the  week  after  and  mak^^ 
a  new  sect,  if  only  by  himself.  Such  men  are  not  happ}' 
under  authority;  their  freedom  of  thought  is  as  the 
breath  of  their  nostrils,  and  they  cannot  think  like  other 
people.  He  was  not  well  dressed,  and  was  probably  r^ 
shoemaker  or  some  such  craftsman.  In  front  of  her  sat 
a  famil}'  of  three.  The  wife  was  attired  in  a  sealskin 
rich  and  valuable,  and  the  son,  a  young  man  of  one  or 
two  and  twenty,  had  the  dress  and  appearance  of  a 
gentleman — that  is  to  say,  of  what  passes  for  such  in 
common  citj'  parlance.  What  did  these  people  do  in 
such  a  place?  Yet  they  were  evidently  of  the  religion. 
Then  she  noticed  a  widow  and  her  boy.  The  widow 
was  not  young;  i)robably,  Angela  thought,  she  had 
married  late  in  life.  Her  lips  were  thin  and  her  face 
was  stern.  "The  boy,"  thought  Angela,  "will  have 
the  doctrine  administered  with  faithfulness."  Only 
sixteen  altogether ;  yet  all,  except  the  pastor,  seemed  to 
be  grimly  in  earnest  and  inordinately  proud  of  their 
sect.  It  was  as  if  the  emptiness  of  their  benches  and 
their  forsaken  condition  called  upon  them  to  put  on  a 
greater  show  of  zeal  and  to  persuade  themselves  that 
the  cause  was  worth  fighting  for.  The  preacher  alone 
seemed  to  have  lost  heart.  But  his  people,  who  were 
accustomed  to  him,  did  not  notice  this  despondency. 

Then  Angela,  while  the  sermon  went  slowly  on,  be- 
gan to  speculate  on  the  conditions  belonging  to  such  a 
sect.  First  of  all,  with  the  apparent  exception  of  the 
lady  in  sealskin  and  her  husband  and  son,  the  whole 
sixteen — perhaps  another  two  or  three  were  prevented 
from  attending — were  of  quite  the  lower  middle  class ; 
they  belonged  to  the  great  stratum  of  society  whose 
ignorance  is  as  profound  as  their  arguments  are  loud. 
But  the  uncomf ortableness  of  it !  Thej"  can  do  no  work 
on  the  Saturday — "  neither  their  man-servant  nor  their 
maid-servant" — their  shops  are  closed  and  their  tools 
put  aside.  They  lose  a  sixth  part  of  the  working  time. 
The  followers  of  this  creed  are  as  much  separated  from 
their  fellows  as  the  Jews.  On  the  Sunday  they  may 
work  if  thoy  please,  but  on  that  day  all  the  world  is  at 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEN.  345 

cluirch  or  at  play.  Angela  looked  round  again.  Yea; 
the  whole  sixteen  had  upon  their  faces  the  look  of 
pride;  they  were  proud  of  being  separated;  it  was  a 
distinction,  just  as  it  is  to  be  a  Samaritan.  Who 
would  not  be  one  of  the  recipients,  however  few  they  be 
in  number,  of  Truth?  And  what  a  grand  thing,  what 
an  inspiriting  thing,  it  is  to  feel  that  some  day  or  other, 
perhaps  not  to-day  nor  to-morrow,  nor  in  one's  life- 
time at  all,  the  whole  world  will  rally  round  the  poor 
little  obscure  banner,  and  shout  all  together,  with  voice 
of  thunder,  the  battle-cry  which  now  sounds  no  louder 
than  a  puny  whistle-pipe !  Yet,  on  the  whole,  Angela 
felt  it  must  be  an  uncomfortable  creed ;  better  be  one  of 
the  undistinguished  crowd  which  Hocks  to  the  parish 
church  and  yearns  not  for  any  distinction  at  all.  Then 
the  sermon  ended  and  they  sang  another  hymn — the 
collection  in  use  was  a  volume  printed  in  New  York, 
and  compiled  by  the  committee  of  the  Connection,  so 
that  there  were  manifestly  congregations  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic  living  in  the  same  discomfort  of 
separation. 

At  the  departure  of  the  people  Rebekah  hurried  out 
first,  and  waited  in  the  doorway  to  greet  Angela. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come  some  day, "  she  said,  "  but 
oh !  I  wish  you  had  told  me  when  you  were  coming,  so 
that  father  might  have  given  one  of  his  doctrine  ser- 
mons. What  we  had  to-day  was  one  of  the  comforta- 
ble discourses  to  the  professed  members  of  the  church 
which  we  all  love  so  much.  I  am  so  sorry.  Oh,  he 
would  convince  you  in  ten  minutes !" 

"But,  Rebekah,"  said  Angela,  "I  should  be  sorry  to 
have  seen  your  service  otherwise  than  usual.  Tell 
me,  does  the  congregation  to-day  represent  all  your 
strength?" 

Rebekah  colored.  She  could  not  deny  that  they 
were,  numerically,  a  feeble  folk. 

"We  rely,"  she  said,  "on  the  strength  of  our  cause — • 
and  some  day — oh !  some  day — the  world  will  rally 
round  us.  See,  j\Iiws  Kennedy,  here  is  father;  when  he 
has  said  good -by  to  the  ]ieoplc" — he  was  talking  to  a 
lady  in  sealskin — "he  will  come  and  speak  to  us."     - 

"I  suppose,"  said  Angela,  "that  this  lady  is  a  mem- 
ber of  your  chapel?" 


346  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEX. 

"Yes,"  Rebekah  whispered,  ''Oh,  they  are  quite 
rich  people — the  only  rich  people  we  have.  They  live 
at  Lej'tonstone ;  they  made  their  money  in  the  book- 
binding, and  are  consistent  Christians.  Father," — for 
at  this  moment  ]\Ir.  Hermitage  left  his  rich  followers 
in  the  porch — "  this  is  Miss  Kennedy,  of  whom  you 
have  heard  so  much." 

Mr.  Hermitage  took  her  hand  with  a  weary  smile,  and 
asked  Rebekah  if  Miss  Kennedy  would  come  home  with 
her. 

They  lived  in  a  small  house  next  door  to  the  chapel. 
It  was  so  small  that  there  was  but  one  sitting-room, 
and  this  was  filled  with  books. 

"Father  likes  to  sit  here,"  said  Rebekah,  "by  him- 
self all  day.  He  is  quite  happy  if  he  is  let  alone. 
Sometimes,  however,  he  has  to  go  to  Leytonstone. " 

"  To  the  rich  people?" 

"  Yes,"  Rebekah  looked  troubled.  "  A  minister  must 
visit  his  flock,  you  know :  and  if  they  were  to  leave  us 
it  would  be  bad  for  us,  because  the  endowment  is  only 
a  hundred  and  ten  pounds  a  year,  and  out  of  that  the 
church  and  the  house  have  got  to  be  kept  in  repair. 
However,  a  clergj^man  must  not  be  dictated  to,  and  I 
tell  father  he  should  go  his  own  way  and  preach  his 
own  sermons.  Whatever  people  say,  truth  must  not 
be  hidden  away  as  if  we  were  ashamed  of  it !  Hush ! 
Here  he  is. " 

The  good  man  welcomed  Angela,  and  said  some  sim- 
ple words  of  gratitude  al)out  her  reception  of  his  daugh- 
ter. He  had  a  good  face,  but  he  wore  an  anxious  ex- 
pression as  if  something  was  always  on  his  mind ;  and 
he  sighed  when  he  sat  down  at  his  table. 

Angela  stayed  for  half  an  hour,  but  the  minister  said 
nothing  more  to  her ;  only  when  she  rose  to  go  he  mur- 
mured with  another  heavy  sigh,  "There's  an  afternoon 
service  at  three." 

It  is  quite  impossible  to  say  whether  he  intended  this 
announcement  as  an  invitation  to  Angela,  or  whether  it 
was  a  complaint,  wrung  from  a  heavy  heart,  of  a 
trouble  almost  intolerable. 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  (CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  Ul 

CHAPTER   XXXVIIL 

I    AM    THE     DRESSMAKER. 

It  happened  on  this  very  same  Saturday  that  Lord 
Jocelyn,  feeling  a  little  low,  and  craving  for  speech  with 
his  ward,  resolved  that  he  would  pay  a  personal  visit  to 
him  in  his  own  den,  whe.'e,  no  doubt,  he  would  find 
him  girt  with  a  fair  white  apron  and  crowned  with 
brown  paper,  proudl}^  standing  among  a  lot  of  his 
brother  workmen — glorious  fellows ! — and  up  to  his 
knees  in  shavings. 

It  is  easy  to  take  a  cab  and  tell  the  driver  to  go  to 
the  Mile  End  Road.  Had  Lord  Jocelyn  taken  more 
prudent  counsel  with  himself  he  would  have  bidden 
him  drive  straight  to  Messenger's  Brewery;  but  he  got 
down  where  the  Whitechapel  road  ends  and  the  Mile 
End  road  begins,  thinking  that  he  would  find  his  way 
to  the  Brewery  with  the  greatest  ease.  First,  however, 
he  asked  the  way  of  a  lady  with  a  basket  on  her  arm ;  it 
was,  in  fact,  Mrs.  Bormalack  going  a-marketing,  and 
anxious  about  the  price  of  greens ;  and  he  received  a 
reply  so  minute,  exact,  and  bewildering,  that  he  felt, 
as  he  plunged  into  the  labyrinthine  streets  of  Stepney, 
like  one  who  dives  into  the  dark  and  devious  ways  of 
the  catacombs. 

First  of  all,  of  course,  he  lost  himself;  but  as  the 
place  was  strange  to  him,  and  a  strange  place  is  always 
curious,  he  walked  along  in  great  contentment.  Noth- 
ing remarkable  in  the  streets  and  houses  unless,  jjer- 
haps,  the  entire  absence  of  anything  to  denote  inequal- 
ity of  wealth  and  position,  so  that,  he  thought  with  sat- 
isfaction, the  happy  residents  in  Stepne}"  all  receive  the 
same  salaries  and  make  the  same  income,  contriliute 
the  same  amount  to  the  tax  collectors,  and  pay  the  same 
rent.  A  beautiful  continuity  of  sameness;  a  divine 
monotony  realizing  partially  the  dreams  of  the  socialist. 
Presently  he  came  upon  a  great  building  which  seemed 
rapidly  approaching "  completion ;  not  a  beautiful  build- 
ing, but  solid,  big,  well  jiroporticwed  and  constructed 
of  real  red  brick,  and  without  the  "Queen  Anne"  con- 
ceits which  mostly  go  with  that  material.     It  was  so 


348  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

large  and  so  well  built  that  it  was  evidently  intended 
for  some  special  purpose ;  a  purpose  of  magnitude  and 
responsibility,  requiring  capital ;  not  a  factory,  because 
the  windows  were  large  and  evidently  belonged  to  great 
halls,  and  there  were  none  of  the  little  windows  in  rows 
which  factories  must  have  in  the  nature  of  things ;  not 
a  prison,  because  prisons  are  parsimonious  to  a  fault  in 
the  matter  of  external  wnndows ;  nor  a  school — yet  it 
might  be  a  school;  then — how  should  so  great  a  school 
be  built  in  Stepney?  It  might  be  a  superior  almshouse, 
or  union — yet  this  could  hardly  be.  While  Lord  Joce- 
lyn  looked  at  the  building,  a  working-man  lounged 
along,  presumably  an  out-of- working  man,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  kicking  stra}^  stones  in  the 
road,  which  is  a  sign  of  the  penniless  pocket,  because 
be  who  yet  can  boast  the  splendid  shilling  does  not 
slouch  as  he  goes,  or  kick  stones  in  the  road,  but  holds 
his  head  erect  and  anticipates  with  pleasure  six  half- 
pints  in  the  immediate  future.  Lord  Joceh^n  asked 
that  industrious  idle,  or  idle  industrious,  if  he  knew  the 
object  of  the  building.  The  man  replied  that  he  did 
not  know  the  object  of  the  building;  and  to  make  it 
quite  manifest  that  he  really  did  not  know  he  put  an 
adjective  before  the  word  object,  and  another — that  is, 
the  same — before  the  word  building.  With  that  he 
passed  upon  his  way,  and  Lord  Jocelyn  was  left  mar- 
velling at  the  slender  resources  of  our  language  which 
makes  one  adjective  do  duty  for  so  many  qualifications. 
Presently,  he  came  suddenly  upon  Stepney  Church, 
which  is  a  landmark  or  initial  point,  like  the  man  on 
the  chair  in  the  maze  of  Hampton  Court.  Here  he 
again  asked  his  wa}",  and  then,  after  finding  it  and  los- 
ing it  again  six  times  more,  and  being  generally  treated 
with  contumely  for  not  knowing  so  simple  a  thing,  he 
found  himself  actually  at  the  gates  of  the  Brewery, 
which  he  might  have  reached  in  five  minutes  had  he 
gone  the  shortest  way. 

"So,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  property  of  that  remarka- 
bly beautiful  girl.  Miss  Messenger;  who  could  wish  to 
start  better?  She  is  young;  she  is  charming,  she  is 
queenly,  she  is  fabulously  rich;  she  is  clever;  she  is — 
ah  I  if  only  Harry  had  met  her  before  he  became  an 
ass !" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  349 

He  passed  the  gate  and  entered  the  courtyard,  at  one 
side  of  which  he  saw  a  door  on  which  was  painted  the 
word  ''  Office. "  The  Brewery  was  conservative ;  what 
was  now  a  hive  of  clerks  and  writers  was  known  by 
the  same  name  and  stood  upon  the  same  spot  as  the 
little  room  built  by  itself  in  the  oi^en  court  in  which 
King  Messenger^  I.,  the  inventor  of  the  Entire,  had 
transacted  by  himself,  having  no  clerks  at  all,  the  whole 
business  of  the  infant  Brewery  for  his  great  invention. 
Lord  Jocelyn  pushed  open  the  door  and  stood  irresolute, 
looking  about  him;  a  clerk  advanced  and  asked  his 
business.  Lord  Jocelyn  was  the  most  polite  and  con- 
siderate of  men :  he  took  oS.  his  hat,  humbly  bowed,  and 
presented  his  card. 

"  I  am  most  sorry  to  give  trouble,"  he  said.  "  I  came 
to  see " 

"Certainly,  my  lord."  The  clerk,  having  been  intro- 
duced to  Lord  Davenant,  was  no  longer  afraid  of  tack- 
ling a  title,  however  grand,  and  would  have  been 
l)leased  to  show  his  familiarity  with  the  great  even  to 
a  Royal  Highness.  "  Certain!}',  my  lord.  If  j-our  lord- 
ship will  be  so  good  as  to  write  j'our  lordship's  name  in 
the  visitors'  book,  a  guide  shall  take  your  lordship 
round  the  Brewery  immediatel}'." 

"  Thank  you,  I  do  not  wish  to  see  the  Brewery,"  said 
the  visitor.  "  I  came  to  see  a~a — a  young  man  who, 
I  believe,  works  in  this  establishment :  his  name  is  Gos- 
lett. " 

"  Oh !"  replied  the  clerk,  taken  aback ,  "  Goslett?  Can 
any  one,"  he  asked  generally  of  tho  room  he  had  just 
left,  "tell  me  whether  there's  a  man  working  here 
named  Goslett?" 

Josephus — for  it  was  the  juniors'  room — knew  and 
indicated  the  j)lace  and  man. 

"  If,  my  lord,"  said  the  clerk,  loath  to  separate  him- 
self from  nobility,  "  your  lordship  will  be  good  enough 
to  follow  me,  I  can  take  your  lordship  to  the  man  your 
lordship  wants.  Quite  a  common  man,  my  lord — quite. 
A  joiner  and  carpenter.  But  if  your  lordship  wants 
to  see  him " 

He  led  Lord  Jocel}Ti  across  the  court,  and  left  him 
at  the  door  of  Harry's  workshop. 

It  was  not  a  great  room  with  benches,  and  piles  of 


350  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

shavings,  and  a  number  of  men.  Not  at  all;  there  were 
racks  with  tools,  a  bench,  and  a  lathe ;  there  were  pieces 
of  furniture  about  waiting  repair ;  there  was  an  unfin- 
ished cabinet  with  delicate  carved  work,  which  Lord 
Jocelyn  recognized  at  once  as  the  handiwork  of  his  boy; 
and  the  boy  himself  stood  in  the  room,  his  coat  off  and 
his  cuffs  turned  up,  contemplating  the  cabinet.  It  is 
one  of  the  privileges  of  the  trade  that  it  allows — nay, 
roquires — a  good  deal  of  contemplation.  Presently 
Harry  turned  his  head  and  saw  his  guardian  standing 
in  the  doorway.  He  greeted  him  cheerfully  and  led 
him  into  the  room,  where  he  found  a  chair  with  four 
legs  and  begged  him  to  sit  down  and  talk. 

"You  like  it,  Harry?" 

Harry  laughed.  "Why  not?"  he  said.  "You  see  I 
am  independent,  practically.  The}'  pay  me  pretty  well 
according  to  the  work  that  comes  in.  Plain  work,  you 
see — joiners'  work." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see.  But  how  long,  my  boy — how 
long?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  cannot  say.     Why  not  all  my  life?" 

Lord  Jocelyn  groaned. 

"  I  admit,"  said  Harry,  "  that  if  things  were  different 
I  should  have  gone  back  to  you  long  ago.  But  now  I 
cannot,  unless " 

"Unless  what?" 

"  Unless  the  girl  who  keeps  me  here  goes  away  her- 
self or  bids  me  go. " 

"  Then  you  are  really  engaged  to  the  dress — I  mean 
— the  young  lady?" 

"  No,  I  am  not.  Nor  has  she  shown  the  least  sign 
of  accepting  me.  Yet  I  am  her  devoted  and  humble 
servant." 

"Is  she  a  witch — this  woman?  Good  heavens, 
Harry !  Can  you,  who  have  associated  with  the  most 
beautiful  and  best-bred  women  in  the  world,  be  so  in- 
fatuated about  a  dressmaker?" 

"  It  is  strange,  is  it  not?  But  it  is  true.  The  thought 
of  her  fills  my  mind  day  and  night.  I  see  her  con- 
stantly. There  is  never  one  word  of  love,  but  she 
knows  already,  without  that  word." 

" Strange,  indeed, "  repeated  Lord  Jocelyn.     "But  it 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  351 

will  pass.  You  will  awake,  and  find  yourself  again  in 
your  right  mind,  Harr}'. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"From  this  madness,"  he  said,  "I  shall  never  re- 
cover— for  it  is  my  life.  Whatever  happens,  I  am  her 
servant." 

"It  is  incomprehensible,"  replied  his  guardian;  "you 
were  always  chivalrous  in  j^our  ideas  of  women.  They 
are  unusual  in  young  men  of  the  present  day ;  but  they 
used  to  sit  well  upon  you.  Then,  however,  your  ideal 
was  a  lady." 

"It  is  a  lady  still,"  said  the  lover,  "and  yet  a  dress- 
maker. How  this  can  be,  I  do  not  know;  but  it  is. 
In  the  old  days  men  became  the  servants  of  ladies.  I 
know  now  what  a  good  custom  it  was,  and  how  salu- 
tary to  the  men.  Petit  Jehan  de  Saintre,  in  his  early 
daj's,  had  the  best  of  all  possible  training." 

"  But  if  Petit  Jehan  had  lived  at  Stepney ?" 

"  Then  there  is  another  thing — the  life  here  is  use- 
ful." 

"  You  now  tinker  chairs,  and  get  paid  a  shilling  an 
hour.  Formerly,  j^ou  made  daintv,  carved  workboxes 
and  fans,  and  pretty  things  for  ladies,  and  got  paid  by 
their  thanks.     Which  is  the  more  useful  life?" 

"  It  is  not  the  work  I  am  thinking  of — it  is  the 

Do  you  remember  what  I  said  the  last  time  I  saw  you?" 

"  Perfect!}" — about  3-our  fellow-creatures,  was  it  not? 
My  dear  Harry,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  our  fellow-men  get 
on  veTy  well  in  their  own  way  without  our  interfer- 
ence. " 

"  Yes — that  is  to  say,  no.  They  are  all  getting  on 
as  badly  as  possible ;  and  somehow  I  want,  before  1  go 
away,  to  find  out  what  it  is  they  want.  They  don't 
know;  and  how  they  should  set  about  getting  it — if  it 
is  to  be  got — as  I  think  it  is.  You  will  not  think  me  a 
prig,  sir?" 

"  You  will  never  be  a  prig,  Harry,  under  any  circum- 
stances. Does,  then,  the  lady  of  your  worship  approve 
of  this? — this  stud}'  of  humanity?" 

"  Perfectly — if  this  lady  did  not  approve  of  it,  I 
should  not  be  engaged  upon  it." 

"  Harry,  will  you  take  me  to  see  this  goddess  of  otep- 
ney  Green — it  is  there,  I  believe,  that  she  resides?" 


352  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"Yes;  I  would  rather  not.  Yet  (the  young  man 
hesitated  for  a  inomeiit) — Miss  Kennedy  thinks  that  I 
have  always  been  a  working-man."  I  would  not  unde- 
ceive her  yet.  I  would  rather  she  did  not  know  that  I 
have  given  up,  for  her  sake,  such  a  man  as  you,  and 
such  companionship  as  yours." 

He  held  out  both  his  hands  to  his  guardian,  and  his 
eyes  for  a  moment  were  dim. 

Lord  Jocelyn  made  no  reply  for  a  moment — then  he 
cleared  his  throat  and  said  he  must  go ;  asked  Harry 
rather  piteously  could  he  do  nothing  for  him  at  all? 
and  made  slowly  for  the  door.  The  clerk  who  received 
the  distinguished  visitor  was  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  office,  waiting  for  another  glimpse  of  the  noble  and 
illustrious  personage.  Presently  he  came  back  and  re- 
ported that  his  lordship  had  crossed  the  j^ard  on  the 
arm  of  the  young  man  called  Goslett,  and  that  on  part- 
ing with  him  he  had  shaken  him  by  the  hand,  and 
called  him  "my  boy."  Whereat  many  marvelled,  and 
the  thing  was  a  stumbling-block;  but  Josephus  said  it 
was  not  at  all  unusual  for  members  of  his  family  to  be 
singled  out  by  the  great  for  high  positions  of  trust; 
that  his  own  father  had  been  churchwarden  of  Stepney, 
and  he  was  a  far-off  cousin  of  Miss  Messenger's;  and 
that  he  could  himself  have  been  by  this  time  superin- 
tendent of  his  Sunday-school  if  it  had  not  been  for  his 
misfortunes.  Presently  the  thing  was  told  to  the  chief 
accountant,  who  told  it  to  the  chief  brewer ;  and  if  there 
had  been  a  chief  baker  one  knows  not  what  would  have 
happened. 

Lord  Jocelyn  walked  slowly  away  in  the  dii'ection  of 
Stepney  Green.  She  lived  there,  did  she?  Oh,  and 
her  name  was  Miss  Kennedy ;  ah,  and  a  man,  by  call- 
ing upon  her,  might  see  her.  Very  good — he  would 
call.  He  would  sa}^  that  he  was  the  guardian  of  Harry, 
and  that  he  took  a  warjn  interest  in  him ;  and  that  the 
boy  was  pining  away — which  was  not  true;  and  that 
he  called  to  know  if  Miss  Kennedy  as  a  friend  would 
divine  the  cause — which  was  crafty.  Quite  a  little 
domestic  drama  he  made  up  in  his  own  mind,  which 
would  have  done  beautifully  had  it  not  been  completely 
shattered  by  the  surprising  things  which  happened,  as 
will  immediately  be  seen. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  S.-JS 

Presently  he  arrived  at  Stepney  Green  and  stopped  to 
look  about  him.  A  ({uiet,  George-tho-Third  looking 
place,  with  many  good  and  solid  houses,  and  a  narrow 
strip  of  garden  running  down  the  middle — in  which  of 
these  houses  did  Miss  Kennedy  dwell? 

There  came  along  the  asphalt  walk  an  old,  old  man ; 
he  was  feeble,  and  tottered  as  he  went.  He  wore  a 
black  silk  stock  and  a  buttoned-up  frock-coat.  His  face 
\vas  wrinkled  and  creased.  It  was,  in  fact,  Mr.  Mali- 
phant  going  rather  late  (because  he  had  fallen  asleep 
by  the  fire)  to  protect  the  property. 

Lord  Jocelyn  asked  him  politely  if  he  would  tell  him 
where  Miss  Kennedy  lived. 

The  patriarch  looked  up,  laughed  joj^ously,  and  shook 
his  head — then  he  said  something  inaudibly,  but  his 
lips  moved ;  and  then  pointing  to  a  large  house  on  the 
right,  he  said  aloud  : 

"  Caroline  Coppin's  house  it  was — she  that  married 
Sergeant  Goslett.  Mr.  Messenger,  whose  grandmother 
was  a  Coppin,  and  a  good  old  Whitechapel  family,  had 
the  deeds.  My  memory  is  not  so  good  as  usual  this 
morning,  young  man,  or  I  could  tell  you  who  had  the 
house  before  Caroline's  father;  but  I  think  it  was  old 
Mr.  Messenger,  because  the  young  man  who  died  the 
other  daj^,  and  was  only  a  year  or  two  older  than  me, 
was  born  there  himself."  Then  he  went  on  his  way, 
laughing  and  wagging  his  head. 

"That  is  a  wonderful  old  man,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn. 
"Caroline  Coppin's  house — that  is,  Harry's  mother's 
house.  Pity  she  couldn't  keej?  it  ii)V  her  son — the  ser- 
geant was  a  thrifty  man,  too.  Here  is  another  native ; 
let  us  try  him." 

This  time  it  was  Daniel  Fagg,  and  in  one  of  his  de- 
spondent moods,  because  none  of  the  promised  proofs 
had  arrived. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  sir,"  asked  Lord  Jocelyn,  "where 
Miss  Kennedy  lives?" 

The  "native,"  who  had  sandy  hair  and  a  graj'  beard, 
and  immense  sandy  eyebrows,  turned  u])on  him  fiercely, 
shaking  a  long  finger  in  his  face,  as  if  it  Avas  a  sword. 

"Mind  you,"  he  growled,  "Miss  Kennedy's  the  only 
man  among  you !  You  talk  of  your  scholars !  Gar ! 
— jealousy  and  envy.  But  I've  remembered  her — pos- 
23 


354  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

terity  shall  knew  her  when  the  head  of  the  Egyptian 
department  is  dead  and  forgotten." 

"Thank  yoii,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  as  the  man  left 
him.     "  I  am  likely  to  be  forwarded  at  this  rate." 

He  tried  again. 

This  time  it  happened  to  be  none  other  than  Mr, 
Bunker.  The  events  of  the  last  few  weeks  were  prey- 
ing upon  his  mind — he  thought  continuall}^  of  handcuffs 
and  prisons.     He  was  nervous  and  agitated. 

But  he  replied  courteously,  and  pointed  out  the  house. 

"  Ah !"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  "  that  is  the  house  which 
an  old  man,  whom  I  have  just  asked,  said  was  Caro- 
line Coppin's." 

"Old  man — what  old  man?"  (Mr.  Bunker  turned 
pale — it  seemed  as  if  the  atmosphere  itself  was  full  of 
dangers.)  "  'Ouse  was  whose?  That  'ouse,  sir,  is  mine 
— mine,  do  j'ou  hear?" 

Lord  Jocelyn  described  the  old  man — in  fact,  he  was 
yet  within  sight. 

"I  know  him,"  said  Mr,  Bunker.  "He's  mad,  that 
old  man — sill}^  Avith  age;  nobody  minds  him.  That 
'ouse,  sir,  is  mine." 

"  Oh !  And  you"  (for  Lord  Jocelyn  now  recollected 
him) — "are  Mr.  Bunker,  are  you?  Do  you  remember 
me?     Think,  man." 

Mr.  Bunker  thought  his  hardest ;  but  if  you  do  not 
remember  a  man,  3'ou  might  as  well  stand  on  your 
head  as  begin  to  think. 

"Twenty  years  ago,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  "I  took 
away  your  nephew,  who  has  now  come  back  here  " 

"You  did,  5"ou  did,"  cried  Bunker  eagerly.  "Ah, 
sir,  why  did  you  let  him  come  back  here?  A  bad  busi- 
ness— a  bad  business." 

"  I  came  to  see  him  to-day,  perhaps  to  ask  him  why 
he  stays  here," 

"  Take  him  away  again,  sir — don't  let  him  stay. 
Rocks  ahead,  sir !"  Mr.  Bunker  put  up  hands  in  warn- 
ing. "  When  I  see  youth  going  to  capsize  on  virtue  it 
makes  mj^  blood,  as  a  Christian  man,  to  curdle — take 
him  away." 

"  Certainly  it  does  you  great  credit,  Mr.  Bunker,  as 
a  Christian  man;  because  curdled  blood  must  be  un- 
pleasant.    But  what  rocks?" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  355 

"  A  rock — one  rock,  a  woman.  In  that  'ouse,  sir,  she 
lives;  her  name  is  Miss  Kennedy — that  is  what  she 
calls  herself.  She's  a  dressmaker  by  trade,  she  says; 
and  a  captivator  of  foolish  young  men  by  nature — don't 
go  anigh  her.  She  may  captivate  you.  Daniel  Fagg 
made  her  an  offer  of  marriage,  and  he's  sixty.  He  con- 
fessed it  to  me.  She  tried  it  on  with  me ;  but  a  man  of 
principles  is  proof.  The  conjurer  wanted  to  marry 
her.     My  nephew,  Dick  Coppin,  is  a  fool  about  her." 

"  She  must  be  a  very  remarkable  woman, "  said  Lord 
Jocelyn. 

"  As  for  that  boj^  Harry  Goslett"  (Bunker  uttered  the 
name  with  an  obvious  effort) — "he's  further  gone  than 
all  the  rest  put  together.  If  it  wasn't  for  her,  he  would 
go  back  to  where  he  came  from." 

"  Ah !  and  where  is  that?" 

"Don't  j'ou  know,  then?  You,  the  man  who  took 
him  away?  Don't  you  know  where  he  came  from? 
Was  it  something  very  bad?" 

There  was  a  look  of  eager  malignit}-  about  the  man's 
face — he  wanted  to  hear  something  bad  about  his 
nephew. 

Lord  Jocelyn  encouraged  him. 

"Perhaps  I  know — perhaps  I  do  not." 

"A  disgraceful  story,  no  doubt,"  said  Bunker,  with 
a  pleased  smile.  "  I  dreaded  the  worst  when  I  saw  him 
with  his  white  hands,  and  his  sneerin',  fleerin'  ways.  I 
thought  of  Newgate  and  jailbirds — I  did,  indeed,  at 
once.  O  prophetic  soul!  Well,  now  wo  know  the 
worst,  and  you  had  better  take  him  away  before  all  the 
world  knows  it.     I  shan't  talk,  of  course." 

"  Thank  j^ou,  Mr.  Bunker ;  and  about  this  Miss  Ken- 
nedy, is  there  anything  against  her  except  that  the  men 
fall  in  love  with  her?" 

"There  is  plenty  against  her;  but  I'm  not  the  man 
to  take  awa}'  a  woman's  character.  Reports  are  about 
her  that  would  astonish  you.  If  all  secrets  were 
known,  we  should  find  what  a  viper  we've  been  cher- 
ishing. At  the  end  of  her  year,  out  she  goes  of  my 
'ouse — bag  and  baggage,  she  goes;  and  wherever  she 
goes,  that  bo3-'ll  go  after  her  unless  you  prevent  it.'' 

"Thank  you  again,  Mr.  Bunker.     Good-morning." 

Angela  (just  returned  from  her  chapel)  was  sitting 


356  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  31  EN. 

at  the  window  of  the  workroom,  in  her  usual  place ; 
she  looked  out  upon  the  green  now  and  again. 

Presently  she  saw  Mr.  Maliphant  creep  slowly  along 
the  pavement,  and  observed  that  he  stopped  and  spoke 
to  a  gentleman.  Then  she  saw  Daniel  Fagg  swinging 
his  arms  and  gesticulating,  as  he  rehearsed  to  himself 
the  story  of  his  wrongs,  and  he  stopped  and  spoke  to 
the  same  man.  Then  she  saw  Mr.  Bunker  walking 
moodily  on  his  way,  and  he  stopped,  too,  and  conversed 
with  the  stranger.  Then  he  turned,  and  she  saw  his 
face. 

It  was  Lord  Jocelyn  le  Breton,  and  he  was  walking 
with  intention  toward  her  own  door ! 

She  divined  the  truth  in  a  moment — he  was  coming 
to  see  the  "  dressmaker"  who  had  bewitched  his  boy. 

She  whispered  to  Nelly  that  a  gentleman  was  coming 
to  see  her  who  must  be  shown  upstairs.  She  took 
refuge  in  the  drawing-room,  which  was  happily  empty; 
and  she  awaited  him  with  a  beating  heart. 

She  heard  his  footsteps  on  the  stairs — the  door 
opened.     She  rose  to  meet  him. 

"  You  here,  Miss  Messenger !  This  is,  indeed,  a  sur- 
prise." 

"No,  Lord  Jocelyn,"  she  replied,  confused,  yet  try- 
ing to  speak  confidently ;  "  in  this  house,  if  you  please, 
I  am  not  Miss  Messenger.  I  am  Miss  Kennedy,  the — 
the " 

Now  she  remembered  exactly  what  her  next  words 
Vv^ould  mean  to  him,  and  she  blushed  violently.  "  I  am 
the — the  dressmaker. " 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


THRICE   HAPPY   BOY. 


A  MAN  of  the  world  at  forty-five  seldoms  feels  sur- 
prised at  anything,  unless,  indeed,  like  Moliere,  he  en- 
counters virtue  in  unexpected  quarters.  This,  however, 
was  a  thing  so  extraordinary  that  Lord  Jocelyn  gasped. 

"Pardon  me.  Miss  Messenger,"  he  said,  recovering 
himself.  "  I  was  so  totally  unprepared  for  this — this 
discovery. " 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  357 

"Now  that  you  have  made  it,  Lord  Jocelj'-n,  may  I 
ask  3'ou  most  earnestly  to  reveal  it  to  no  one?  I  mean 
no  one  at  all." 

"I  understand  perfectly.  Yes,  Miss  Messenger,  I 
will  keep  your  secret.  Since  it  is  a  secret,  I  v\-ill  tell 
it  to  none.  But  I  would  ask  a  favor  in  return,  if  I 
may." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Take  me  further  into  your  confidence.  Let  me 
know  why  you  have  done  this  most  wonderful  thing. 
I  hope  I  am  not  impertinent  in  asking  this  of  you." 

"  Not  impertinent,  certainly.  And  the  thing  must 
seem  strange  to  you.     And  after  what  you  told  me 

some  time  ago,  about "    She  hesitated  a  moment,  and 

then  turned  her  clear  brown  eyes  straight  upon  his 
face,  "  about  your  w^ard,  perhaps  some  explanation  is 
due  to  you." 

"Thank  you,  beforehand." 

"  First,  however,  call  me  Miss  Kennedy  here ;  pra}' — 
pray,  do  not  forget  that  there  is  no  Miss  Messenger 
nearer  than  Portman  Square." 

"  I  will  tr}^  to  remember." 

"  I  came  here, "  she  went  on,  "  last  Juh^,  having  a 
certain  problem  in  my  mind.  I  have  remained  here 
ever  since,  working  at  that  problem.  It  is  not  nearly 
worked  out  yet,  nor  do  I  think  that  in  the  longest  life 
it  could  be  worked  out.  It  is  a  most  wonderful  prob- 
lem, for  one  thing  leads  to  another,  and  great  schemes 
rise  out  of  small,  and  there  are  hundreds  of  plans  spring- 
ing out  of  one — if  I  could  only  carry  them  out." 

"To  assist  you  in  carrj-ing  them  out,  you  have  se- 
cured the  services  of  my  ward,  I  learn." 

"  Yes;  he  has  been  very  good  to  me." 

"I  have  never,"  said  Lord  Jocel.yn,  "been  greatly 
tempted  in  the  direction  of  philanthropy.  But  pray 
go  on . " 

"  The  first  thing  I  came  to  establish  was  an  association 
of  dressmakers,  myself  being  one.  That  is  very  sim- 
ple. I  have  started  them  with  a  house  free  of  rent  and 
the  necessary  furniture — which  I  know  is  wrong,  be- 
cause it  introduces  an  unfair  advantage — and  we  divide 
all  the  money  in  certain  proportions.*  That  is  one 
thing." 


358  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  But,  my  clear  young  lady,  could  you  not  have  done 
this  from  Portman  Square V" 

"  I  could,  but  not  so  well.  To  live  here  as  a  work- 
woman among  other  workwomen  is,  at  least,  to  avoid 
the  danger  of  being  flattered,  deceived,  and  paid  court 
to.  I  was  a  most  insignificant  person  when  T  came.  I 
am  now  so  far  advanced  that  a  great  many  emploj^ers 
of  women's  labor  cordially  detest  me,  and  would  like  to 
see  my  association  ruined. 

"O  Lord  Jocelvn,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause, 
"  3'ou  do  not  know,  you  cannot  know  the  dreadful  dan- 
gers which  a  rich  woman  has  to  encounter.  If  I  had 
come  here  in  my  own  name  I  should  have  been  besieged 
b}^  every  plausible  rogue  who  could  catch  my  ear  for 
half  an  hour.  I  should  have  all  the  clergy  round  me 
imploring  help  for  their  schools  and  their  churches ;  I 
should  have  had  ever}"  unmarried  curate  making  love 
to  me ;  I  should  have  paid  ten  times  as  much  as  anj^body 
else;  and,  worse  than  all,  I  should  not  have  made  a 
single  friend.  My  sjanpathies,  whenever  I  read  the 
parable,  are  always  with  Dives,  because  he  must  have 
been  so  flattered  and  worshipped  before  his  pride  be- 
became  intolerable." 

"  I  see.  All  this  you  escaped  by  your  assumption  of 
the  false  name." 

''  Yes.  I  am  one  of  themselves ;  one  of  the  people ;  I 
have  got  my  girls  together ;  I  have  made  them  under- 
stand my  project ;  they  have  become  my  fast  and  faith- 
ful friends.  The  better  to  inspire  confidence,  I  even 
sheltered  myself  behind  m3'self.  I  said  Miss  Messen- 
ger was  interested  in  our  success.  She  sends  us  orders. 
I  went  to  the  West  End  with  things  made  up  for  her. 
Thanks  mainlj^  to  her,  we  are  flourishing.  We  work 
for  shorter  hours  and  for  greater  pay  than  other  girls: 
I  could  already  double  my  staff  if  I  could  only,  which 
I  shall  soon,  double  the  work.  We  have  recreation, 
too,  and  we  dine  together,  and  in  the  evening  we  have 
singing  and  dancing.  My  girls  have  never  before 
known  an}"  happiness :  now  they  have  learned  the  hap- 
piness of  quiet,  at  least,  with  a  little  of  the  culture,  and 
some  of  the  things  which  make  rich  people  happy. 
Oh !  would  you  have  me  go  away  and  leave  them,  when 
I  have  taught  these  things  of  which  they  never  dreamed 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  359 

before?  Should  I  send  them  back  to  the  squalid  house 
and  the  bare  pittance  again?  Stay  and  take  your 
luncheon  with  us  when  we  dine,  and  ask  yourself 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  for  me  to  live  here  alto- 
gether— never  to  go  back  to  the  West  End  at  all — than 
to  go  away  and  desert  my  girls?" 

She  was  agitated  because  she  spoke  from  her  heart. 
She  went  on  without  waiting  for  any  reply : 

''  If  you  knew  the  joyless  lives,  the  hopeless  days  of 
these  girls,  if  you  could  see  their  workrooms,  if  j^ou 
knew  what  is  meant  b}'  their  long  hours  and  their  in- 
sufficient food,  you  would  not  wonder  at  my  staying 
here,  you  would  cry  shame  upon  the  rich  woman  so 
selfish  as  to  spend  her  substance  in  idle  follies,  when 
she  might  have  spent  it  upon  her  unfortunate  sisters." 

"I  think,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  "that  you  are  a  very 
noble  girl." 

"  Then  there  is  another  scheme  of  mine :  a  project  so 
great  and  generous — nay,  I  am  not  singing  my  o^vn 
praises,  believe  me — that  I  can  never  get  it  out  of  my 
mind.  This  project,  Lord  Jocelyn,  is  due  to  your 
ward." 

"  Harry  was  always  an  ingenious  youth.  But  pray 
tell  me  what  it  is. " 

"  I  cannot,"  she  replied ;  "  when  I  put  the  project  into 
words  they  seem  cold  and  feeble.  They  do  not  express 
the  greatness  of  it.  They  would  not  rouse  your  enthu- 
siasm. I  could  not  make  j'ou  understand  in  any  de- 
gree the  great  hopes  I  have  of  this  enterprise." 

"And  it  is  Harry's  invention?" 

"  Yes — his.  All  I  have  done  is  to  find  the  money  to 
carry  it  out." 

"  That  is  a  good  part  of  anj^  enterprise,  however. " 

At  this  point  the  bell  rang. 

"  That  is  the  first  bell,"  said  Angela;  "now  the}"  lay 
down  their  work  and  scamper  about — at  least  the 
younger  ones  do — for  ten  minutes  before  dinner.  Come 
with  me  to  the  dining-room." 

Presently  the  girls  came  trooping  in,  fifteen  or  so, 
with  bright  eyes  and  healthy  clieeks.  Some  of  them 
were  pretty :  one.  Lord  Jocelyn  thought,  of  a  peculiarly 
graceful  and  delicate  type,  though  too  fragile  in  ap- 
pearance.    This  was  Nelly  Sorensen.     She  looked  more 


360  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

fragile  than  usual  to-daj^,  and  there  were  black  lines 
under  her  lustrous  e^^es.  Another,  whom  Miss  Ken- 
nedy called  Rebekah,  was  good-looking  in  a  different 
way,  being  sturdy,  rosj-cheeked,  and  downright  in  her 
manner.  Another,  who  would  otherwise  have  been 
quite  common  in  appearance,  was  made  beautiful — al- 
most— by  the  patient  look  which  had  followed  years  of 
suffering ;  she  was  a  cripple ;  all  their  faces  during  the 
last  few  months  had  changed  for  the  better ;  not  one 
among  them  all  bore  the  expression  which  is  described 
by  the  significant  words  "bold"  and  "  con nnon."  Six 
months  of  daily  drill  and  practice  in  good  manners  had 
abolished  that  look  at  any  rate. 

The  dinner  was  perfectly  plain  and  simple,  consisting 
of  a  piece  of  meat  with  plenty  of  vegetables  and  bread, 
and  nothing  else  at  all.  But  the  meat  was  good  and 
well  cooked,  and  the  service  was  on  fair  white  linen. 
Moreover,  Lord  Jocelyn,  sitting  down  in  this  strange 
company,  observed  that  the  girls  behaved  with  great 
propriety.  Soon  after  they  began,  the  door  opened  and 
a  man  came  in.  It  was  one  of  those  to  whom  Lord 
Jocelyn  had  spoken  on  the  green,  the  man  with  the 
bushy  sandy  eyebrows.  He  took  his  seat  at  the  table 
and  began  to  eat  his  food  ravenously.  Once  he  pushed 
his  plate  away  as  if  in  a  temper,  and  looked  up  as  if  he 
was  going  to  complain.  Then  the  girl  they  called  Re- 
bekah— she  came  to  dinner  on  Saturdays,  so  as  to  have 
the  same  advantages  as  the  rest,  though  she  did  no 
work  on  that  day — held  up  her  forefuiger  and  shook  it 
at  him,  and  he  relapsed  into  silence.  He  was  the  onlj'- 
one  who  behaved  badly,  and  Miss  Kennedy  made  as  if 
she  had  not  seen. 

During  the  dinner  the  girls  talked  freely  among  them- 
selves w^ithout  any  of  the  giggling  and  whispering 
which,  in  some  circles,  is  considered  good  manners; 
they  all  treated  Miss  Kennedy  with  great  respect,  though 
she  was  only  one  workwoman  among  the  rest.  Yet 
there  was  a  great  difference,  and  the  girls  knew  it; 
next  to  her  on  her  left  sat  the  pretty  girl  whom  she 
called  Nelly. 

When  dinner  was  over,  because  it  was  Saturday  there 
was  no  more  work.  Some  of  the  girls  went  into  the 
drawing-room  to  rest  for  an  hour  and  read ;    Rebekah 


ALL  SORTS  A^D  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  361 

went  home  again  to  attend  the  afternoon  service ;  some 
went  into  the  garden,  although  it  was  December,  and 
began  to  plaj-  lawn-tennis  on  the  asphalt ;  the  nicin  with 
the  eyebrows  got  up  and  glared  moodily  around  from 
under  those  shaggy  eyebrows  and  then  vanished.  An- 
gela and  Lord  Jocelyn  remained  alone. 

"You  have  seen  us,"  she  said;  "  what  do  you  think 
of  us?"  ^ 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  and  I  do  not  know  what  to 
think." 

"  Your  ward  is  our  right  hand.  We  women  want  a 
man  to  work  for  us  always.  It  is  his  business,  and  his 
pleasure,  too,  to  help  us  to  amuse  ourselves.  He  finds 
diversions;  he  invents  all  kinds  of  things  for  us.  Just 
now  he  is  arranging  tableaux  and  plays  for  Christmas." 

"  Is  it — is  it — oh.  Miss  Kennedy— is  it  for  the  girls 
onh-'?" 

"That  is  dangerous  ground,"  she  replied,  but  not 
severely.  "Do  you  think  we  had  better  discuss  the 
subject  from  that  point  of  view?" 

^ "  Poor  boy !"  said  Lord  Jocelyn.     "  It  is  the  point  of 
view  from  which  I  must  regard  it." 

^  She  blushed  again— and  her  beautiful  eyes  grew  lim- 
pid. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  speaking  low,  "do  you 
think  I  do  not  feel  for  him?  Yet  there  is  a  cause— a 
sentiment,  perhaps.  The  time  is  not  quite  come.  Lord 
Jocelyn,  be  patient  with  me !" 

"You  will  take  pity  on  him?" 

"  Oh !"  she  took  the  hand  he  offered  her.  "  If  I  can 
make  him  happy — — " 

"  If  not,"  replied  Lord  Joceh'n,  kissing  her  hand,  "he 
would  be  the  most  ungrateful  dog  in  all  the  world.  If 
not,  he  deserves  to  get  nothing  but  a  shilling  an  hour 
for  the  miserable  balance  of  his  days.  A  shilling?  No ; 
let  him  go  back  to  his  tenpence.  My  dear  young  lady, 
you  have  made  me  at  all  events,  the  happiest  of  men ! 
No,  do  not  fear :  neither  by  word  nor  look  shall  Harry 
— shall  any  one — know  what  you  have  been  so  very,  very 
good,  so  generous,  and  so  thoughtful  as  to  tell  me." 

"  He  loves  me  for  myself, "  she  murmured,  "  He  does 
not  know  that  I  am  rich.  Think  of  that,  and  think  of 
the  terrible  suspicions  which  grow  up  in  every  rich 


363  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

woman's  heart  when  a  man  makes  love  to  her.  Now  I 
can  never,  never  doubt  his  honesty.  For  my  sake  he 
lias  given  up  so  much;  for  my  sake — mine!  oh!  Why 
are  men  so  good  to  women?" 

"  No,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn.  "  Ask  what  men  can  ever 
do  that  they  should  be  rewarded  with  the  love  and  trust 
of  such  a  woman  as  your'" 

That  is,  indeed,  a  difficult  question,  seeing  in  what 
words  the  virtuous  woman  has  been  described  by  one 
who  writes  as  if  he  ouglit  to  have  known.  As  a  pen- 
dailt  to  the  picture  'tis  pity,  'tis  great  pitj^  we  have  not 
the  eulogy  of  the  virtuous  man.  But  there  never  were 
any,  perhaps. 

Lord  Jocelyn  stayed  with  Angela  all  the  afternoon. 
They  talked  of  many  things;  of  Harry's  bo3'hood,  of  his 
gentle  and  ready  ways,  of  his  many  good  qualities,  and 
of  Angela  herself,  her  hopes  and  ambitions,  and  of  their 
life  at  Bormalack's.  And  Angela  told  Lord  Jocleyn 
about  her  proteges,  the  claimants  to  the  Davenant 
peerage,  with  the  history  of  the  "Roag  in  Grane,"  Sat- 
urday Davenant;  and  Lord  Jocelyn  promised  to  call 
upon  them. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  she  sent  him  away,  with 
permission  to  come  again.  Now  this.  Lord  Jocelyn 
felt,  as  he  came  away,  was  the  most  satisfactory,  na}' 
the  most  delightful,  day  that  he  had  ever  spent. 

That  lucky  rascal  Harrj' !  To  think  of  this  tremen- 
dous stroke  of  fortune !  To  fall  in  love  with  the  richest 
heiress  in  England ;  to  have  that  passion  returned,  to 
be  about  to  marry  the  most  charming,  the  most  beau- 
tiful, the  sweetest  woman  that  had  ever  been  made. 
Happy,  thrice  happy  boy !  What  wonder,  now,  that  he 
found  tinkering  chairs,  in  company,  so  to  speak,  with 
that  incomparable  woman,  better  than  the  soft  divans 
of  his  club  or  the  dinners  and  dances  of  society?  What 
had  he.  Lord  Jocelyn,  to  offer  the  lad,  in  comparison 
with  the  delights  of  this  strange  and  charming  court- 
ship? 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  363 

CHAPTER  XL. 

SWEET    NELLY. 

In  every  love-storj^  there  is  always,  thougla  it  is  not 
always  told,  a  secondary  plot,  the  history  of  the  man  or 
woman  who  might  have  been  left  happy  but  for  the 
wedding  bells  which  peal  for  somebody  else  and  end  the 
tale.  When  these  ring  out,  the  hopes  and  dreams  of 
some  one  else,  for  whom  they  do  not  ring,  turn  at  last 
to  dust  and  ashes.  We  are  drawing  near  the  church ; 
we  shall  soon  hear  those  bells.  Let  us  spare  a  moment 
to  speak  of  this  tale  untold,  this  dream  of  the  morning, 
doomed  to  disappointment. 

It  is  only  the  dream  of  a  foolish  girl ;  she  was  young 
and  ignorant ;  she  was  brought  up  in  a  school  of  hard- 
ship until  the  time  when  a  gracious  lady  came  to  rescue 
her.  She  had  experienced,  outside  the  haven  of  rest, 
where  her  father  was  safel}'  sheltered,  only  the  buffets 
of  a  hard  and  cruel  world,  filled  with  greedy  task- 
masters who  exacted  the  uttermost  farthing  in  work  and 
paid  the  humblest  farthing  for  reward.  More  than  this, 
she  knew,  and  her  father  knew,  that  when  his  time 
came  for  exchanging  that  haven  for  the  cemeterj',  she 
would  have  to  fight  the  hard  battle  alone,  being  almost 
a  friendless  girl,  too  shrinking  and  timid  to  stand  up 
for  herself.  Therefore,  after  her  rescue,  at  first  she  was 
in  the  seventh  heaven ;  nor  did  her  gratitude  and  love 
toward  her  rescuer  ever  know  any  abatement.  But 
there  came  a  time  when  gratitude  was  called  upon  to 
contend  with  another  feeling. 

From  the  very  first  Harry's  carriage  toward  Nelly 
was  marked  by  sympathetic  and  brotherly  affection. 
He  really  regarded  this  pretty  creature,  with  her  soft 
and  winning  ways,  as  a  girl  whom  he  could  call  by  her 
Christian  name  and  treat  as  one  treats  a  sweet  and 
charmii>g  child.  She  was  clever  at  learning — nobody, 
not  even  Miss  Kennedy,  danced  better ;  she  was  docile ; 
she  was  sweet-tempered  and  slow  to  say  or  think  evil. 
She  possessed  naturally,  Harry  thought — but  then  he 
forgot  that  her  father  had  commanded  an  East  India- 


364  A-LL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

man — a  refinement  of  thought  and  manner  far  above 
the  other  girls ;  she  caught  readily  the  tone  of  her  pa- 
tron; she  became  in  a  few  weeks,  this  young  dress- 
maker, the  faithful  effigies  of  a  lady  under  the  instruc- 
tion of  Miss  Kennedy,  whom  she  watched  and  studied 
da}'  by  day.  It  was  unfortunate  that  Harry  continued 
to  treat  her  as  a  child,  because  she  was  already  a  woman. 

Presently  she  began  to  think  of  him,  to  watch  for 
him,  to  note  his  manner  toward  herself. 

Then  she  began  to  compare  and  to  watch  his  manner 
toward  Miss  Kennedy. 

Then  she  began  to  wonder  if  he  was  paying  attention 
to  Miss  Kennedy,  if  they  were  engaged,  if  they  had  an 
understanding. 

She  could  find  none.  Miss  Kennedy  was  always 
friendly  toward  him,  but  never  more.  He  was  always 
at  her  call,  her  faithful  servant,  like  the  rest  of  them, 
but  no  more. 

Remember  that  the  respect  and  worship  with  which 
she  regarded  Miss  Kennedy  were  unbounded.  But 
Harry  she  did  not  regard  as  on  the  same  level.  No 
one  was  good  enough  for  Miss  Kennedy.  And  Harry, 
clever  and  bright  and  good  as  he  seemed,  was  not  too 
good  for  herself. 

They  were  a  great  deal  together.  All  Nelly's  even- 
ings were  spent  in  the  drawing-room ;  Harry  was  there 
ever}^  night ;  they  read  together ;  they  talked  and  danced 
and  sang  together.  And  though  the  young  man  said 
no  single  word  of  love,  he  was  always  thoughtful  for  her 
in  ways  that  she  had  never  experienced  before.  Below 
a  certain  level,  men  are  not  thoughtful  for  women. 
The  cheapeners  of  women's  labor  at  the  East  End  are 
not  by  any  means  thoughtful  toward  them.  No  one 
had  ever  considered  Nelly  at  all,  except  her  father. 

Need  one  say  more?  Need  one  explain  how  tender 
flowers  of  hope  sprang  up  in  this  girl's  heart,  and  be- 
came her  secret  joy? 

This  made  her  watchful,  even  jealous.  And  when  a 
change  came  in  Miss  Kennedy's  manner — it  was  after 
her  first  talk  with  Lord  Jocelyn — when  Nelly  saw  her 
color  heighten  and  her  eyes  grow  brighter  when  Harry 
appeared,  a  dreadful  pain  seized  upon  her,  and  she 
knew,  without  a  word  being  spoken,  that  all  was  over 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  365 

for  her.  For  what  was  she  compared  with  this  glorious 
woman,  beautiful  as  the  day,  sweet  as  a  rose  in  June, 
full  of  accomplishments'?  How  could  any  man  regard 
her  beside  Miss  Kenned}-?  How  could  any  man  think 
of  any  other  woman  when  such  a  goddess  had  smiled 
upon  him? 

In  some  stories,  a  girl  who  has  had  to  beat  down  and 
crush  the  young  blossoms  of  love  goes  through  a  great 
variety  of  performances,  always  in  the  same  order. 
The  despair  of  love  demands  that  this  order  shall  be 
obeyed.  She  turns  white;  she  throws  herself  on  her 
bed,  and  weeps  by  herself,  and  miserably  owns  that  she 
loves  him ;  she  tells  the  transparent  fib  to  her  sister  or 
mother ;  she  has  received  a  blow  from  which  she  never 
will  recover ;  if  she  is  religious,  it  brings  her  nearer  to 
heaven — all  this  we  have  heard  over  and  over  again. 
Poor  little  Nelly  knew  nothing  about  her  grander  sis- 
ters in  misfortune ;  she  knew  nothing  of  what  is  due  to 
self-respect  under  similar  circumstances ;  she  only  per- 
ceived that  she  had  been  foolish,  and  tried  to  show  as  if 
that  was  not  so.  It  was  a  make-believe  of  rather  a  sorry 
kind.  When  she  was  alone  she  reproached  herself; 
when  she  was  with  Miss  Kennedy  she  reproached  her- 
self; when  she  was  with  Harry  she  reproached  herself. 
Always  herself  to  blame,  no  one  else,  and  the  imme- 
diate result  was  that  her  great  limpid  eyes  were  sur- 
rounded by  dark  rings  and  her  cheeks  grew  thin. 
•  Perhaps  there  is  no  misfortune  more  common  among 
women — especially  among  women  of  the  better  class — 
tlian  that  of  disappointed  hope.  Girls  who  are  hard 
worked  in  shops  have  no  time,  as  a  rule,  to  think  of 
love  at  all.  Love,  like  other  gracious  influences,  does 
not  come  in  their  wa}-.  It  is  when  leisure  is  arrived 
at,  with  sufficiency  of  food  and  comfort,  of  shelter  and 
good  clothing,  that  love  begins. 

To  most  of  Angela's  girls,  Harry  Goslett  was  a  creat- 
ure far  above  their  hopes  or  thoughts.  It  was  pleasant 
to  dance  with  him ;  to  hear  him  play,  to  hear  him  talk; 
but  he  did  not  belong  to  them.  It  was  not  for  nothing 
that  their  brothers  called  him  "  Gentleman  Jack. "  They 
were,  in  fact,  "common  girls,"  althougli  Angela,  by 
the  quiet  and  steady  force  of  example,  was  introducing 
such  innovations  in  the  dressing  of  the  hair,  the  car- 


366  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  lilEN. 

riage  of  the  person,  and  the  style  of  garments,  that  they 
were  rapidly  becoming  uncommon  girls.  But  they  oc- 
cupied a  position  lower  than  that  of  Nelly,  v/ho  was 
the  daughter  of  a  ship's  captain  now  in  the  asjium ;  or 
of  Rebekah,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a  minister,  and 
had  the  key  to  all  truth. 

To  Nelly,  therefore,  there  came  for  a  brief  space  this 
dream  of  love.  It  lasted,  indeed,  so  brief  a  space — it 
had  such  slender  foundations  of  reality — that  when  it 
vanished  she  ought  to  have  let  it  go  without  a  sigh, 
and  have  soon  felt  as  if  it  never  had  come  to  her  at  all. 
This  is  difficult  of  accomplishment,  even  for  women  of 
strong  nerves  and  good  physique;  but  IMelly  tried  it  and 
partially  succeeded.  That  is,  no  one  knew  her  secret 
except  Angela,  who  divined  it — having  special  reason 
for  this  insight;  and  Rebekah,  who  perhaps  had  also 
her  own  reasons ;  but  she  was  a  self-contained  woman, 
who  kept  her  own  secret. 

"She  cannot,"  said  Rebekah,  watching  Angela  and 
Harry,  who  were  walking  together  on  the  green — "  she 
cannot  marry  anybody  else.     It  is  impossible." 

''  But  why,"  said  Nelly — "  why  do  they  not  tell  us,  if 
thej"  are  to  be  married'?" 

"There  are  many  things,"  said  Rebekah,  "which 
Miss  Kennedy  does  not  tell  us.  She  has  never  told  us 
who  she  is  or  where  she  came  from,  or  how  she  gets 
command  of  money;  or  how  she  knows  Miss  Messen- 
ger; or  what  she  was  before  she  came  to  us.  Because,. 
Nelly,  you  may  be  sure  of  one  thing — that  Miss  Ken- 
nedj''  is  a  lady,  born  and  bred.  Not  that  I  want  to 
know  more  than  she  chooses  to  tell,  and  I  am  as  certain 
of  her  goodness  as  I  am  certain  of  anything.  And 
Avhat  this  place  will  do  for  the  girls  if  it  succeeds,  no 
one  can  tell.  Miss  Kennedy  wid  tell  us,  perhaps,  some 
da}'  why  she  has  come  among  us,  pretending  to  be  a 
dressmaker." 

*'  Oh !"  said  Nelly,  "  what  a  thing  for  us  that  she  did 
pretend !  And  oh,  Rebekah,  what  a  thing  it  would  be 
if  she  were  to  leave  off  pretending!  But  she  would 
never  desert  us — never. " 

"  No,  she  never  would." 

Rebekah  continued  to  watch  them. 

"You  see,  Nelly,  if  she  is  a  lady,  he  is  a  gentleman." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  367 

Nelly  blushed;  and  then  blushed  again  for  very  shame 
at  having  blushed  at  all.  "  Some  gentleman,  I  am  told, 
take  delight  in  turning  girls'  heads.  He  doesn't  do  that. 
Has  he  ever  said  a  word  to  yo\i  that  he  shouldn't?" 

"No,"  said  Nelly,  "never." 

"Well,  and  he  hasn't  to  me;  though,  as  for  you,  he 
goes  about  saying  everywhere  that  you  are  the  prettiest 
girl  in  Stepney,  next  to  Miss  Kennedy.  And  as  for  me 
and  the  rest,  he  has  always  been  like  a  brother ;  and  a 
good  deal  better  than  most  brothers  are  to  their  sisters. 
Being  a  gentleman,  I  mean  he  is  no  match  for  you  and 
me,  who  are  real  work-girls.  And  there  is  nobody  in 
the  parish  except  Miss  Kennedy  for  him." 

"  Yet  he  works  for  money. " 

"  So  does  she.  My  dear,  I  don't  understand  it — I 
never  could  understand  it.  Perhaps  some  day  we  shall 
know  what  it  all  means.  There  they  are,  making 
believe.  They  go  on  making  believe  and  pretending, 
and  they  seem  to  enjoy  it.  Then  they  walk  about  to- 
gether, and  p^ay  in  words  with  each  other — one  pretend- 
ing not  to  understand  and  so  on.  Miss  Kennedy  says, 
"  But  then  I  speak  from  hearsay,  for  I  am  only  a  di-ess- 
maker. '  And  he  says,  'So  I  read,  because,  of  course, 
a  cabinet-maker  can  know  nothing  of  these  things.' 
Mr.  Bunker,  who  ought  to  be  made  to  learn  the  Epistle 
of  St.  James  by  heart,  says  dreadful  things  of  both  of 
them,  and  one  his  own  nephew;  but  what  does  he 
know  ? — nothing. " 

"  But,  Rebekah,  Mr.  Goslett  cannot  be  a  very  great 
gentleman,  if  he  is  Mr.  Bunker's  nephew;  his  father 
was  a  sergeant  in  the  army." 

"  He  is  a  gentleman  by  education  and  training.  Well, 
some  day  we  shall  learn  more.  Meantime,  I  for  one  am 
contented  that  they  should  marry.     Are  you,  Nelly?" 

"I,  too,"  she  replied,  "am  contented,  if  it  will  make 
Miss  Kennedy  happy." 

"He  is  not  convinced  of  the  truth,"  said  Rebekah, 
making  her  little  sectarian  reservation,  "  but  any  woman 
who  would  want  a  better  husband  must  be  a  fool.  As 
for  jow  and  me,  now,  after  knowing  these  two,  it  will 
be  best  for  us  never  to  marry,  ratlier  than  to  marry  one 
of  the  drinking,  tobacco-smoking  workmen,  who  would 
have  us." 


368  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"Yes,"  said  Nelly,  "much  best.  I  shall  never  marry 
anybody." 

Certainl}'^  it  was  not  likely  that  more  young  gentle- 
men would  come  their  way.  One  Sunday  evening,  the 
girl,  being  alone  with  Miss  Kennedy,  took  courage  and 
dared  to  speak  to  her. 

In  fact,  it  was  Angela  herself  who  began  the  talk. 

"  Let  us  talk,  Nelly,"  she  began ;  "  we  are  quite  alone. 
Tell  me,  my  dear,  what  is  on  your  mind?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Nelly. 

"  Yes  there  is  something — tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Kennedy,  I  cannot  tell  you.  It  would  be 
rudeness  to  speak  of  it." 

"  There  can  be  no  rudeness,  Nelly,  between  you  and 
me.     Tell  me  what  you  are  thinking." 

Angela  knew  alread}-  what  was  in  her  mind,  but  after 
the  fashion  of  her  sex  she  dissembled.  The  brutality 
of  truth  among  the  male  sex  is  sometimes  very  painful; 
and  yet  we  are  so  proud,  some  of  us,  of  our  earnest  at- 
tachment to  truth. 

"Oh,  Miss  Kennedy,  can  you  not  see  that  he  is  suf- 
fering?" 

"  Nelly !"  but  she  was  not  displeased. 

"He  is  getting  thinner.  He  does  not  laugh  as  he 
used  to;  and  he  does  not  dance  as  much  as  he  did.  Oh, 
Miss  Kennedy,  can  you  not  take  pity  on  him?" 

"Nelly,  you  have  not  told  me  whom  you  mean. 
Nay,"  as  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone  she  threw  her 
arms  about  Nelly's  neck  and  kissed  her,  "  nay.  I  know 
very  well  whom  you  mean,  my  dear." 

"  I  have  not  offended  you?" 

"No,  you  have  not  offended  me.  But,  Nelly,  an- 
swer me  one  question — answer  it  truthfully.  Do  you, 
from  3-our  own  heart,  wish  me  to  take  pity  on  him?" 

Nelly  answered  f rankh^  and  truthfully : 

"Yes;  because  how  can  I  wish  anything  but  what 
will  make  you  happy?  Oh,  how  can  any  of  us  help 
wishing  that ;  and  he  is  the  only  man  who  can  make 
you  happy.     And  he  loves  you." 

"  You  Want  him  to  love  me  for  my  sake ;  for  my  own 
sake.     Nelh',  dear  child,  you  humble  me." 

But   Nelly   did   not   understand.     She   had   secretly 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  3G9 

offered  up  her  humble  sacrifice — her  pair  of  turtle- 
doves ;  and  she  knew  not  that  her  secret  was  known. 

"She  loves  him  herself,"  Angela  was  thinking,  "and 
she  gives  him  up  for  my  sake." 

"He  is  not,"  Nelly  went  on — as  if  she  could  by  any 
words  of  hers  persuade  Angela — "  he  is  not  like  any  of 
the  common  workmen.  See  how  he  walks,  and  how 
independent  he  is,  and  he  talks  like  a  gentleman.  And 
he  can  do  all  the  things  that  gentlemen  learn  to  do. 
Who  is  there  among  us  all  that  he  could  look  at,  except 
you?" 

"  JSTelly — do  not  make  me  vain." 

"  As  for  you,  Miss  Kennedy,  there  is  no  man  fit  for 
you  in  all  the  world.  You  call  yourself  a  dressmaker, 
but  we  know  better ;  oh,  you  are  a  lady !  My  father 
saj^s  so.  He  used  to  have  great  ladies  sometimes  on 
board  his  ship.  He  sa3-s  that  never  was  any  one  like 
you  for  talk  and  manner.  Oh,  we  don't  ask  your  se- 
cret, if  you  have  one — only  some  of  us  (not  I,  for  one)  are 
afraid  that  some  day  you  will  go  away,  and  never  come 
back  to  us  again.     What  should  we  do  then?" 

"  My  dear,  I  shall  not  desert  you." 

"And,  if  you  marry  him,  you  will  remain  with  us? 
A  lady  should  marry  a  gentleman,  I  know ;  she  could 
not  marry  any  common  man.  But  jow  are,  so  you  tell 
us,  only  a  dressmaker.  And  he,  hesaj^s,  only  a  cabinet- 
maker ;  and  Dick  Coppin  says  that,  though  he  can  use 
the  lathe,  he  knows  nothing  at  all  about  the  trade — not 
even  how  they  talk,  nor  anj'thing  about  them.  If 
you  two  have  secrets.  Miss  Kennedy,  tell  them  to  each 
other." 

"'  My  secrets,  if  I  have  anj",  are  very  simple,  Nelly, 
and  very  soon  you  shall  know  them ;  and,  as  for  his,  I 
know  them  already." 

Angela  was  silent  awhile,  thinking  over  this  thing ; 
then  she  kissed  the  girl,  and  whispered :  "  Patience 
yet  a  little  while,  dear  Nelly.  Patience,  and  I  \'fill  do, 
perhaps,  what  you  desire." 

"  Father, "  said  Nelly,  later  on  that  night,  sitting  to- 
gether by  the  fire,  "  father,  I  spoke  to  Miss  Kennedy 
to-night." 

"  What  did  you  speak  to  her  about,  ni}'  dear?" 
24 


370  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  I  told  her  that  we  knew  (you  and  I)  that  she  is  a 
lady,  whatever  she  mav  pretend." 

"  That  is  quite  true,  Nelly." 

"  And  I  said  that  Mr.  Goslett  is  a  gentleman,  what- 
ever he  may  pretend." 

"  That  may  be  true — even  though  he  is  not  a  gentle- 
man born — but  that's  a  very  different  thing,  my  dear." 

"Why  is  it  different?" 

"  Because  there  are  many  ladies  who  go  about  among 
poor  people ;  but  no  gentleman,  unless  it's  the  clergy- 
men. Ladies  seem  to  like  it — they  do  it,  however  hard 
the  work,  for  nothing — and  all  because  it  is  their"  duty, 
and  an  imitation  of  the  Lord.  Some  of  them  go  out 
nursing.  I  have  told  you  how  I  took  them  out  to  Scu- 
tari. Some  of  them  go,  not  a  bit  afraid,  into  the  foul 
courts,  and  find  out  the  worst  creatures  in  the  world, 
and  help  them.  Many  of  them  give  up  their  whole 
lives  for  the  poor  and  miserable.  My  dear,  there  is 
nothing  that  a  good  woman  will  shrink  from — no  mis- 
er}', no  den  of  wickedness — nothing.  Sometimes  I  think 
]\Iiss  Kennedy  must  be  one  of  those  women.  Yes,  she's 
got  a  little  money,  and  she  has  come  here  to  work  in 
her  own  way  among  the  people  here. " 

"And  Mr.  Goslett,  father?" 

"  Men  don't  do  what  women  do.  There  may  be  some- 
thing in  what  Mr.  Bunker  says — that  he  has  reasons  of 
his  own  for  coming  here  and  hiding  himself." 

"Oh,  father,  you  don't  mean  it;  and  his  own  uncle, 
too,  to  say  such  a  thing." 

"  Yes,  iiis  own  uncle.  Mr.  Goslett,  certainly,  does 
belong  to  the  place ;  though  why  Bunker  should  bear 
him  so  much  malice  is  more  than  I  can  tell." 

"  And,  father,  there  is  another  reason  why  he  should 
stay  here."     Nelly  blushed,  and  laughed  merrily. 

"What  is  that,  my  dear?" 

Nelly  kissed  him  and  laughed  again. 

"  It  is  your  time  for  a  pipe — let  me  fill  it  for  you. 
And  the  Sunday  ration,  here  it  is ;  and  here  is  a  light. 
Oh,  father,  to  be  a  sailor  so  long  and  have  no  eyes  in 
your  head !" 

"  What" — he  understood  now — "you  mean  Miss  Ken- 
nedy !  Nell,  my  dear,  forgive  me — I  was  thinking 
that  perhaps  you " 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  371 

"  No,  father, "  she  replied  hurriedly,  "  that  could  never 
be.  I  want  nothing  but  to  stay  on  here  with  you  and 
Miss  Kennedy,  who  has  been  so  good  to  us  that  we  can 
never,  never  thank  her  enough;  nor  can  we  wish  her 
too  much  joy.  But,  please,  never — never  say  that 
again." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Captain  Sorensen  took  a  book  from  the  table — it  was 
that  book  which  so  many  people  have  constantly  in  their 
mouths,  and  yet  it  never  seems  to  get  into  their  hearts ; 
the  book  which  is  so  seldom  read  and  so  much  com- 
mented upon.  He  turned  it  over  till  he  found  a  cer- 
tain passage  beginning,  "  Who  can  find  a  virtuous  wom- 
an?" He  read  this  right  through  to  the  end.  One 
passage,  "She  stretcheth  out  her  hand  to  the  poor. 
Y"ea,  she  reacheth  forth  her  hands  unto  the  needy,"  he 
read  twice ;  and  the  last  line,  "  Let  her  own  works  praise 
her  in  the  gates,"  he  read  three  times. 

"  My  dear"  he  concluded,  "  to  pleasure  Miss  Kennedy 
you  would  do  more  than  give  up  a  lover ;  ay,  and  with 
a  cheerful  heart." 


■  CHAPTER  XLI. 

BOXING-NIGHT. 

"  Let  us  keep  Christmas, "  said  Angela,  "  with  some- 
thing like  original  treatment.  We  will  not  dance,  be- 
cause we  do  that  nearly  every  night." 

"  Let  us,"  said  Harry,  "dress  up  and  act." 

What  were  they  to  act?  That  he  would  find  for 
them.  How  were  they  to  dress?  That  they  would  have 
to  find  for  themselves.  The  feature  of  the  Christmas 
festival  was  that  they  were  to  be  mummers,  and  that 
there  was  to  be  mummicking,  and  of  course  there  would 
be  a  little  feasting,  and  perhaps  a  little  singing. 

"  We  must  have  just  such  a  programme, "  said  Angela 
to  their  master  of  ceremonies,  "  as  if  you  were  preparing 
it  for  the  Palace  of  Delight." 

"This  is  the  only  Palace  of  Delight,"  said  Harry, 
"  that  we  shall  ever  see.  For  my  own  part  I  desire  no 
other. " 


373  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  But,  you  know,  we  are  going  to  have  another  one, 
much  larger  than  this  little  place.  Have  you  forgotten 
all  5'our  projects?" 

Harry  laughed ;  it  was  strange  how  persistently  Miss 
Kennedy  returned  to  the  subject  again  and  again ;  how 
seriously  she  talked  about  it ;  how  she  dwelt  upon  it. 

"  We  must  have,"  she  continued,  ''sports  which  will 
cost  nothing,  with  dresses  which  we  can  make  for  our- 
selves. Of  course  we  must  have  guests  to  witness 
them." 

"Guests  cost  money,"  said  Harry.  "But,  of  course, 
in  a  Palace  of  Delight  money  must  not  be  considered. 
That  would  be  treason  to  your  principles." 

"  We  shall  not  give  our  guests  anything  except  the 
cold  remains  of  the  Christmas  dinner.  As  for  cham- 
pagne, we  can  make  our  own  with  a  few  lemons  and  a 
little  sugar.     Do  not  forbid  us  to  invite  an  audience." 

Fortunately,  a  present  which  arrived  from  their 
patron,  Miss  Messenger,  the  day  before  Christmas  Day, 
enabled  them  to  give  their  guests  a  substantial  supper, 
at  no  cost  whatever.  The  present  took  the  form  of  sev- 
eral hampers,  addressed  to  Miss  Kennedy,  with  a  note 
from  the  donor  conveying  her  love  to  the  girls  and  best 
wishes  for  the  next  year,  when  she  hoped  to  make  their 
acquaintance.  The  hampers  contained  turkeys,  sau- 
sages, ducks,  geese,  hams,  tongues,  and  the  like. 

Meantime,  Harr}^,  as  stage  manager  and  dramatist, 
had  devised  the  tableaux,  and  the  girls  between  them  had 
devised  the  dresses  from  a  book  of  costumes.  Christ- 
mas Day,  as  everybody  remembers,  fell  last  year  on  a 
Sunday.  This  gave  the  girls  the  whole  of  Saturday 
afternoon  and  evening,  with  Monday  morning  for  the 
conversion  of  the  trying-on  room  into  the  stage,  and 
the  show-room  for  the  audience.  But  the  rehearsals 
took  a  fortnight,  for  some  of  the  girls  were  stupid  and 
some  were  shy,  though  all  were  willing  to  learn,  and 
Harry  was  patient.  Besides,  there  was  the  chance  of 
wearing  the  most  beautiful  dresses,  and  no  one  was  left 
out ;  in  the  allegory,  a  pastoral,  invented  by  their  man- 
ager, there  was  a  part  for  every  one. 

The  gift  of  Miss  Messenger  made  it  possible  to  have 
two  sets  of  guests ;  one  set  consisting  of  the  girls'  fe- 
male relations,  and  a  few  private  friends  of  Miss  Ken- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  373 

nedy's  who  lived  and  suffered  in  the  neighborhood,  for 
the  Christmas  dinner,  held  on  Monday ;  and  the  other 
set  was  carefully  chosen  from  a  long  list  of  the  select 
audience  in  the  evening.  Among  them  were  Dick  and 
his  friend,  the  ex-Chartist  cobbler,  and  a  few  leading 
spirits  of  the  Advanced  Club.  They  wanted  an  audi- 
ence who  would  read  between  the  lines. 

The  twenty-sixth  day  of  last  December  was,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Stepney,  dull  and  overcast;  it 
promised  to  be  a  day  of  rebuke  for  all  quiet  folk,  be- 
cause it  was  a  general  holiday,  one  of  those  four  terrible 
days  when  the  people  flock  in  droves  to  favorite  haunts 
if  it  is  in  the  summer,  or  hang  about  public-houses  if  it 
is  winter ;  when,  in  the  evening,  the  air  is  hideous  with 
the  shouts  of  those  who  roll  about  the  pavements ;  a  day 
when  even  Comas  and  his  rabble  rout  are  fain  to  go 
home  for  fear  of  being  hustled  and  evilly  treated  by  the 
holiday-makers  of  famous  London  town;  a  day  when 
the  peaceful  and  the  pious,  the  temperate  and  the  timid, 
stay  at  home.  But  to  Angela  it  was  a  great  day,  sweet 
and  precious — to  use  the  language  of  an  ancient  Puritan 
and  modern  prig — because  it  was  the  first  attempt  to- 
ward the  realization  of  her  great  dream ;  because  her 
girls  on  this  night  for  the  first  time  showed  the  fruits 
of  her  training  in  the  way  they  plaj-ed  their  parts,  their 
quiet  bearing  and  their  new  refinement.  After  the  per- 
formances of  this  evening  she  looked  forward  with  con- 
fidence to  her  palace. 

The  day  began,  then,  at  half-past  with  the  big  din- 
ner. All  the  girls  could  bring  their  mothers,  sisters, 
and  female  relations  generally,  who  were  informed  that 
Miss  Messenger,  the  mysterious  person  who  interfered 
perpetually,  like  a  goddess  out  of  a  machine,  with  some 
new  gift,  or  some  device  for  their  advantage,  was  the 
giver  of  the  feast. 

It  was  a  good  and  ample  Christmas  dinner  served  in 
the  long  work-room  by  Angela  and  the  girls  them- 
selves. There  were  the  turkeys  of  the  hamper,  roasted 
M^ith  sausages,  and  roast  beef  and  roast  fowls,  and 
roast  geese  and  roast  pork,  with  an  immense  supply  of 
the  vegetables  dear  to  London  people ;  and  after  this 
first  ^course,  there  were  plum-pudding  and  mince-pies. 
Messenger's  ale,  with  the  stout  so  much  recommended 


374  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

by  Bunker,  flowed  freely,  and  after  dinner  there  was 
handed  to  each  a  glass  of  port.  None  but  women  and 
children — no  boy  over  eight  being  allowed — were  pres- 
ent at  the  feast,  and  when  it  was  over  most  of  the  wom- 
en got  up  and  went  away,  not  without  some  little 
talk  with  Angela  and  some  present  in  kind  from  the 
benevolent  Miss  Messenger.  Then  they  cleared  all 
away  and  set  out  the  tables  again,  with  the  same  pro- 
visions, for  the  supper  in  the  evening,  at  which  there 
would  be  hungrj^  men. 

All  the  afternoon  they  spent  in  completing  their  ar- 
rangements. The  guests  began  to  arrive  at  five.  The 
music  was  supplied  by  Angela  herself,  who  did  not  act, 
with  Captain  Sorensen  and  Harry.  The  ])iano  was 
brought  downstairs  and  stood  in  the  hall  outside  the  try- 
ing-on  room. 

The  performance  was  to  commence  at  six,  but  every- 
bod}^  had  come  long  before  half -past  five.  At  a  quarter 
to  six  the  little  orchestra  began  to  play  the  old  Engb'sh 
tunes  dear  to  pantomimes. 

At  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  the  music  changed  to  a  low 
monotonous  plaint  and  the  curtain  slowly  rose  on  the 
tableau. 

There  was  a  large,  bare,  emptj^  room ;  its  sole  furni- 
ture was  a  table*  and  three  chairs;  in  one  corner  was 
a  pile  of  shavings;  upon  them  sat,  crouching  with  her 
knees  drawn  up,  the  pale  and  worn  figure  of  a  girl; 
beside  her  were  the  crutches  which  showed  that  she 
was  a  cripple ;  her  white  cheek  was  wasted  and  hollow ; 
her  chin  was  thrust  forward  as  if  she  was  in  suffering 
almost  intolerable.  During  the  tableau  she  moved  not, 
save  to  swing  slowly  backward  and  forward  upon  the 
shavings  which  formed  her  bed. 

On  the  table,  for  it  was  night,  was  a  candle  in  a  gin- 
ger-beer bottle,  and  two  girls  sat  at  the  table  working 
hard ;  their  needles  were  running  a  race  with  starva- 
tion ;  their  clothes  were  in  rags ;  their  hair  was  gathered 
up  in  careless  knots ;  their  cheeks  were  pale ;  they  were 
pinched  and  cold  and  feeble  with  hunger  and  privation. 

Said  one  of  the  women  present,  "  Twopence  an  hour, 
they  can  make.     Poor  things !  poor  things !" 

"Dick,"  whispered  the  cobbler,  "you  make  a  note  of 
it;  I  guess  what's  coming," 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  375 

The  spectators  shivered  with  sympathy.  They  knew 
so  well  what  it  meant ;  some  of  them  had  themselves 
dwelt  amid  these  garrets  of  misery  and  suffering. 

Then  voices  were  heard  outside  in  the  street  singing. 

They  were  the  waits,  and  they  sang  the  joyful  h3"mns 
of  Christmas.  When  the  working-girls  heard  the  sing- 
ing, they  paid  no  heed  whatever,  plying  the  needle  fast 
and  furiously;  and  the  girl  in  the  shavings  paid  no  heed, 
slowly  swinging  to  and  fro  in  her  pain  and  hunger. 
At  the  sight  of  this  callous  contempt,  this  disregard  of 
the  invitation  to  rejoice,  as  if  there  were  neither  hope 
nor  joy  for  such  as  themselves,  with  only  a  mad  desire 
to  work  for  something  to  stay  the  dreadful  pains  of 
hunger,  some  of  the  women  among  the  spectators  wept 
aloud. 

Then  the  waits  went  away;  and  there  was  silence 
again. 

Then  one  of  the  girls — it  was  Nelly — stopped,  and 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  with  her  hand  to  her  heart ; 
the  work  fell  from  her  lap  upon  the  floor ;  she  sprang  to 
her  feet,  threw  up  her  hands,  and  fell  in  a  lifeless  heap 
upon  the  floor.  The  other  girl  went  on  with  her  sew- 
ing; and  the  cripple  went  on  swinging  backward  and 
forward.  For  they  were  all  three  so  miserable  that  the 
misery  of  one  could  no  more  touch  the  other  two. 

The  curtain  dropped.  The  tableau  represented,  of 
course,  the  girls  who  work  for  an  emj)loyer. 

After  five  minutes  it  rose  again.  There  were  the 
same  girls  and  others ;  they  were  sitting  at  work  in  a 
cheerful  and  well-furnished  room;  the}"  were  talking 
and  laughing.  The  clock  struck  six,  and  they  laid 
aside  their  work,  pushed  back  the  table  and  advanced 
to  the  front  singing  all  together.  Their  faces  were 
bright  and  happy ;  they  were  well  dressed,  thej"  looked 
well  fed ;  there  was  no  trouble  among  them  at  all ;  they 
chatted  like  singing-birds ;  the}"  ran  and  played. 

Then  Captain  Sorensen  came  in  with  his  fiddle,  and 
first  he  played  a  merry  tune,  at  the  sound  of  which  the 
girls  caught  each  other  by  the  waist,  and  fell  to  danc- 
ing the  old  Greek  ring.  Then  he  played  a  quadrille, 
and  they  danced  that  simple  figure,  and  as  if  they  liked 
it;  and  then  he  played  a  waltz,  and  they  whirled  round 
.nnd  round. 


37ft  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

This  was  the  labor  of  girls  for  themselves.  Every- 
body understood  perfectly  what  was  meant  without  the 
waste  of  words.  Some  of  the  mothers  present  wiped 
their  eyes  and  told  their  neighbors  that  this  was  no  play 
acting,  but  the  sweet  and  blessed  truth ;  and  that  the 
jo}^  was  real,  because  the  girls  were  working  for  them- 
selves and  there  were  no  naggings,  no  fines,  no  temper, 
no  bullj'ing,  no  long  hours. 

After  this  there  was  a  concert,  which  seemed  a  fall- 
ing off  in  point  of  excitement.  But  it  was  pretty. 
Captain  Sorensen  played  some  rattling  sea  ditties ;  then 
Miss  Kennedy  and  Mr.  Goslett  plaj^ed  a  duet ;  then  the 
girls  sang  a  madrigal  in  parts,  so  that  it  was  wonder- 
ful to  hear  them,  thinking  how  ignorant  they  were  six 
months  before.  Then  Miss  Kennedy  played  a  solo,  and 
then  the  girls  sang  another  song.  By  what  magic,  by 
what  myster}^,  were  girls  so  transformed?  Then  the 
audience  talked  together,  and  whispered  that  it  was  all 
the  doing  of  that  one  girl — Miss  Kennedy — who  was 
believed  by  everybody  to  be  a  lady  born  and  bred,  but 
pretended  to  be  a  dressmaker.  She  it  was  who  got  the 
girls  together,  gave  them  the  house,  found  work  for 
them,  arranged  the  time  and  duties,  and  paid  them 
week  b3'  week  for  shorter  hours  better  wages.  It  was 
she  who  persuaded  them  to  spend  their  evenings  with 
her  instead  of  trapesing  about  the  streets,  getting  into 
mischief ;  it  was  she  who  taught  them  the  singing,  and 
all  manner  of  pretty  things ;  and  they  were  not  spoiled 
bj^  it,  except  that  they  would  have  nothing  more  to  say 
to  the  rough  lads  and  shopbo3^s  who  had  formerly  paid 
them  rude  court  and  jested  with  them  on  Stepney 
Green.  Uppish  they  certainly  were;  what  mother 
would  find  fault  with  a  girl  for  holding  up  her  head 
and  respecting  herself?  And  as  for  manners,  why,  no 
one  could  tell  what  a  difference  there  was. 

The  Chartist  looked  on  with  a  little  suspicion  at  first, 
which  gradually  changed  to  the  liveliest  satisfaction. 

"Dick,"  he  whispered  to  his  friend  and  disciple,  "I 
am  sure  that,  if  the  working-men  like,  they  may  find 
the  swells  their  real  friends.  See,  now  we've  got  all 
the  power;  they  can't  take  it  from  us;  very  good  then, 
who  are  the  men  we  should  suspect?  Why,  those 
who've  got  to  pay  the  wages — the  manufacturers  and 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  377 

such.  Not  the  swells.  Make  a  note  of  that,  Dick. 
It  may  be  the  best  card  you've  got  to  \Asiy.  A  thou- 
sand places  such  as  this — planted  all  about  England — 
started  at  first  by  a  swell — wdiy,  man,  the  working 
classes  would  have  not  only  all  the  power  but  all  the 
money.  Oh,  if  I  were  ten  years  younger!  What  are 
they  going  to  do  next?" 

The  next  thing  they  did  pleased  the  women,  but  the 
men  did  not  seem  to  care  much  about  it,  and  the 
Chartist  went  on  developing  the  new  idea  to  Dick,  who 
drank  it  all  in,  seeing  that  here,  indeed,  was  a  practical 
and  attractive  idea  even  though  it  meant  a  new  depart- 
ure. But  the  preacher  of  a  new  doctrine  has  generally 
a  better  chance  than  one  who  only  hammers  away  at 
an  old  one. 

The  stage  showed  one  figure.  A  beautiful  girl,  her 
hair  bound  in  a  fillet,  clad  in  Greek  dress,  simple,  flow- 
ing, graceful,  stood  upon  a  low  pedestal.  She  was  in- 
tended— it  was  none  other  than  Nelly — to  represent 
woman  dressed  as  she  should  be.  One  after  the  other 
there  advanced  upon  the  stage  and  stood  beside  this 
statue,  women  dressed  as  women  ought  not  to  be ;  there 
they  were,  the  hideous  fashions  of  generations;  the 
pinched  waists,  monstrous  hats,  high  peaks,  hoops  and 
crinolines,  hair  piled  up,  hair  stuffed  out,  gigot  sleeves, 
high  waists,  tight  skirts,  bending  walk,  boots  with  high 
heels — an  endless  array. 

When  Nelly  got  down  from  her  pedestal  and  the  show 
was  over,  Harry  advanced  to  the  front  and  made  a  little 
speech.  He  reminded  his  hearers  that  the  Association 
was  only  six  months  old ;  he  begged  them  to  consider 
vrhat  was  its  position  now.  To  be  sure,  the  girls  had 
been  started,  and,  that  he  said,  was  the  great  difficulty; 
but,  the  start  once  made  and  prejudice  removed,  they 
found  themselves  with  work  to  do,  and  they  were  now 
paying  their  own  way  and  doing  well;  before  long 
they  would  be  able  to  take  in  more  hands;  it  Avas  not 
all  work  with  them,  but  there  was  plenty  of  plaj'-,  as 
they  knew.  Meantime  the  girls  invited  everybod}^  to 
have  supper  with  them,  and  after  supper  there  would 
be  a  little  dance. 

They  stayed  to  supper,  and  they  appreciated  the  gift 
of  Miss  Messenger;    then  they  had  the  little  dance — 


378  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Dick  Coppin  now  taking  his  part  without  shame. 
"While  the  dancing  went  on  the  Chartist  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  room,  talking  with  Angela.  When  he 
went  awa}',  his  heart — which  Avas  large  and  gene- 
rous— burned  within  him,  and  he  had  visions  of  a 
time  when  the  voices  of  the  poor  shall  not  be  raised 
against  the  rich  nor  the  minds  of  the  rich  hardened 
against  the  poor.  Perhaps  he  came  unconsciously- 
nearer  to  Christianity,  this  man  who  was  a  scoffer 
and  an  unbeliever,  that  night  than  he  had  ever  before. 
To  have  faith  in  the  future  forms,  indeed,  a  larger 
part  of  the  Christian  religion  than  some  of  us  ever 
realize.  And  to  believe  in  a  single  woman  is  one  step, 
however  small,  toward  believing  in  the  Divine  Man. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

NOT    JOSEPHUS,     BUT    ANOTHER. 

The  attractions  of  a  yard  peopled  with  ghosts,  dis- 
contented figure-heads,  and  an  old  man,  are  great  at 
first,  but  iiot  likely  to  be  lasting  if  one  does  not  person- 
ally see  or  converse  with  the  ghosts  and  if  the  old  man 
becomes  monotonous.  We  expect  too  much  of  old  men. 
Considering  their  years,  we  think  their  recollections 
must  be  wonderful.  One  says,  "  Good  heavens !  Me- 
thuselah must  recollect  William  the  Conquer<3r  and 
King  John,  and  Sir  John  Falstaff,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  battle  of  Waterloo!"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Me- 
thuselah generally  remembers  nothing  except  that 
where  Cheapside  now  stands  was  once  a  green  field. 
As  for  Shakespeare,  and  Coleridge,  and  Charles  Lamb, 
he  knows  nothing  whatever  about  them.  You  see  if  he 
had  taken  so  much  interest  in  life  as  to  care  about 
things  going  on,  he  would  very  soon,  like  his  contem- 
poraries, have  worn  out  the  machine,  and  would  be  ly- 
ing, like  them,  in  the  grassy  inclosure. 

Harry  continued  to  go  to  the  carver's  yard  for  some 
time,  but  nothing  more  was  to  be  learned  from  him.  He 
knew  the  family  history,  hov/ever,  by  this  time,  pretty 
well.  The  Coppins  of  Stepney,  like  all  middle-class 
families,  had  experienced  many  ups  and  downs.     They 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  379 

had  been  churchwardens;  they  had  been  bankrupts; 
they  had  practised  many  trades ;  and  once  there  was 
a  Coppin  who  died,  leaving  houses — twelve  houses — 
three  apiece  to  his  children — a  meritorious  Coppin. 
Where  were  those  houses  now?  Absorbed  by  the  om- 
nivorous Uncle  Bunker.  And  how  Uncle  Bunker  got 
those  belonging  to  Caroline  Coppin  could  not  now  be 
ascertained,  except  from  Uncle  Bunker  himself.  Every- 
where there  are  scrapers  and  scatterers;  the  scrapers 
are  few,  and  the  scatterers  many.  By  what  scatterer 
or  what  process  of  scattering  did  Caroline  lose  her 
houses? 

Meantime,  Harry  did  not  feel  himself  obliged  to 
hold  his  tongue  upon  the  subject ;  and  everybody  knew, 
before  long,  that  something  was  going  on  likely  to  be 
l^rejudicial  to  Mr.  Bunker.  People  whispered  that 
Bunker  was  going  to  be  caught  out ;  this  rumor  lent  to 
the  unwilling  agent  some  of  the  interest  which  attaches 
to  a  criminal.  Some  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  they  had 
always  suspected  him  because  he  was  so  ostentatious 
in  his  honesty ;  and  this  is  a  safe  thing  to  say,  because 
any  person  may  be  reasonably  suspected ;  and  if  we  did 
not  suspect  all  the  world,  why  the  machinery  of  bolts 
and  bars,  kej-s  and  patent  safes?  But  it  is  the  wise 
man  who  suspects  the  right  person,  and  it  is  the  justly 
proud  man  who  strikes  an  attitude  and  says :  "  What 
did  I  tell  you?"  As  j^et,  however,  the  suspicions  were 
vague.  Bunker,  for  his  part,  though  not  generally  a 
thin-skinned  man,  easily  perceived  that  there  was  a 
change  in  the  way  he  was  received  and  regarded ;  peo- 
ple looked  at  him  with  marked  interest  in  the  streets; 
they  turned  their  heads  and  looked  after  him;  they 
talked  about  him  as  he  approached ;  they  smiled  with 
meaning;  Josephus  Coppin  met  him  one  day,  and  asked 
him  whj  he  would  not  tell  his  nephew  how  he  obtained 
those  three  houses  and  what  consideration  he  gave  for 
them.  He  began,  especially  of  an  evening,  over  brandy 
and  water,  to  make  up  mentally,  over  and  over  again, 
his  own  case,  so  that  it  might  be  presented  at  the  right 
^noment  absolutely  perfect  and  without  a  flaw ;  a  para- 
gon among  cases.  His  nephew,  whom  he  now  regarded 
with  a  Icjathing  almost  lethal,  was  impudent  enough  to 
go  about  saying  that  he  had  got  those  houses  unlaw- 


380  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

fully.  Was  he?  Veiygood;  he  would  have  such  law 
as  is  to  be  had  in  England,  for  the  humiliation,  pun- 
ishment, stamping  out,  and  ruining  of  that  nephew; 
aye,  if  it  cost  him  five  hundred  pounds  he  would.  He 
should  like  to  make  his  case  public;  he  was  not  afraid; 
not  a  bit;  let  all  the  world  know;  the  more  the  story 
was  known,  the  more  would  his  contemporaries  admire 
his  beautiful  and  exemplary  virtue,  patience,  and  mod- 
eration. There  were,  he  said,  with  the  smile  of  benev- 
olence and  blush  of  modesty  which  so  well  become  the 
good  man,  transactions,  money  transactions,  between 
himself  and  his  sister-in-law,  especiall}^  after  her  mar- 
riage with  a  man  who  was  a  secret  scatterer.  These 
money  matters  had  been  partly  squared  by  the  transfer 
of  the  houses,  which  he  took  in  part  payment ;  the  rest 
he  forgave  when  Caroline  died,  and  when,  which 
showed  his  goodness  in  an  electric  light,  he  took  over 
the  boy  to  bring  him  up  to  some  honest  trade,  though 
he  was  a  beggar.  Where  were  the  proofs  of  those 
transactions?  Unfortunately  they  were  all  destroyed 
by  lire  some  j^ears  since,  after  having  been  carefully 
preserved,  and  docketed,  and  indorsed,  as  is  the  duty 
of  every  careful  man  of  business. 

Now  by  dint  of  repeating  this  precious  story  over  and 
over  again,  the  worthy  man  came  to  believe  it  entirely, 
and  to  believe  that  other  people  would  believe  it  as 
well.  It  seemed,  in  fact,  so  like  the  truth,  that  it 
would  deceive  even  experts,  and  pass  for  that  priceless 
article.  At  the  time  when  Caroline  died,  and  the  boy 
went  to  stay  with  him,  no  one  asked  any  questions,  be- 
cause it  seemed  nobody's  business  to  inquire  into  the 
interest  of  the  child.  After  the  boy  was  taken  away  it 
gradually  became  known  among  the  surviving  members 
of  the  family  that  the  houses  had  long  before,  owing  to 
the  profligate  extravagance  of  the  sergeant — as  careful  a 
man  as  ever  marched — passed  into  the  hands  of  Bunker, 
who  now  had  all  the  Coppin  houses.  Everything  was 
clean  forgotten  by  this  time.  And  the  boy  must  needs 
turn  up  again,  asking  questions.  A  young  villain !  A 
serpent !     But  he  should  be  paid  out. 

A  very  singular  accident  prevented  the  "paying  out" 
quite  in  the  sense  intended  by  Mr.  Bunker.  It  hap- 
pened in  this  way : 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  381 

One  day  when  Miss  Messenger's  cabinet-maker  and 
joiner-in-ordinary,  having  little  or  nothing  to  do,  was 
wandering  about  the  Brewery,  looking  about  him,  lazily 
watching  the  process  of  beer-making  on  a  large  exten- 
sive  scale,    and  exchanging   the   compliments   of   the 
season,  which  was  near  the  new  year,  with  the  work- 
men, it  happened  that  he  passed   the   room  in  which 
Josephus  had  sat  for  forty  years  among  the  juniors. 
The  door  stood  open,  and  he  looked  in,  as  he  had  often 
done  before,  to  nod  a  friendly  salutation  to  his  cousin. 
There  Josephus   sat,  with   gray  hair,  an   elderly  man 
among   boys,  mechanically  ticking  off  entries  among 
the  lads.     His  place  was  in  the  warm  corner  near  the 
fire;  beside  him  stood  a  large  and  massive  safe;  the 
same  safe  out  of  which,  during  an  absence  of  three  min- 
utes, the  country  notes  had  been  so  mysteriously  stolen. 
The  story,  of  course,  was  well  known.     Josephus' 
version  of  the  thing  was  also  well  known.     Everybody 
further  knew  that,  until  the  mystery  of  that  robbery 
was   cleared   up,  Josephus  would  remain  a  junior  on 
30s.  a  week.     Lastly,  everybody  (with  the  kindliness 
of  heart  common  to  our  glorious  humanity)  firmly  be- 
lieved that  Josephus  had  really  cribbed  those  notes"",  but 
had  been  afraid  to  present  them,  and  so  dropped  them 
into  a  fire,  or  down  a  drain.     It  is  truly  remarkable 
to  observe  how  deeply  we  respect,  adore,  and  venerate 
virtue— insomuch  that  we  all  go  about  pretending  to  be 
virtuous;  yet  how  little  we  believe  in  the  virtue  of  each 
other!     It  is  also  remarkable  to  reflect  upon  the  exten- 
sive fields  still  open  to  the  moralist,  after  all  these  years 
of  preaching  and  exhorting. 

Now,  as  Harry  looked  into  the  room,  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  safe,  and  a  curious  thing  occurred.  The  fragment 
of  a  certain  letter  from  Bob  Coppin  (in  which  he  sent  a 
message  by  his  friend  to  his  cousin,  Squaretoes  Jo- 
sephus) quite  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  returned  to 
his  memory — further,  the  words  assumed  a  meaning. 

"Josephus,"  he  said,  stepping  into  the  office,  "lend 
me  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil.     Thank  you." 

He  wrote  down  the  words  exactly  as  he  recollected 
them— half  destroyed  by  the  tearing  of  the  letter. 

"...  Josephus,  my  cousin,  that  he  will.  .  .'nd  the 
safe  the  bundle.  .  .  or  a  lark.     Josephus  is  a  squaretoes. 


882  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

I  hate  a  man  who  won't  drink.     He  will.  .  .  if  he  looks 
there." 

When  he  had  written  these  words  down  he  read  them 
over  again,  while  the  lads  looked  on  with  curiosity  and 
some  resentment.  Cabinet-makers  and  joiners  have  no 
business  to  swagger  about  the  office  of  young  gentle- 
men who  are  clerks  in  breweries,  as  if  it  were  their 
own  place.     It  is  an  innovation — a  levelling  of  rank. 

"  Josephus, "  Harry  whispered,  "  you  remember  your 
cousin.  Bob  Coppin?" 

"  Yes ;  but  these  are  office  hours.  Conversation  is 
not  allowed  in  the  juniors'  room." 

He  spoke  as  if  he  was  still  a  bo}^ — as  indeed,  he  was, 
having  been  confined  to  the  society  of  boys,  and  hav- 
ing drawn  the  pay  of  a  boy  for  so  many  years. 

"  Never  mind  rules — tell  me  all  about  Bob." 

"  He  was  a  drinker  and  a  spendthrift — that's  enough 
about  him." 

Josephus  spoke  in  a  whisper,  being  anxious  not  to 
discuss  the  family  disgrace  among  his  fellow-clerks. 

"  Good  !  Were  j^ou  a  friend  as  well  as  a  cousin  of  his?" 

"  No,  I  never  was — I  was  respectable  in  those  days, 
and  desirous  of  getting  my  character  high  for  steadi- 
ness. I  went  to  evening  lectures  and  taught  in  the 
Wesleyan  Sundaj^-schools.  Of  course,  when  the  notes 
were  stolen,  it  was  no  use  trying  any  more  for  character 
— that  was  gone.  A  young  man  suspected  of  stealing 
£14,000  can't  get  any  character  at  all.  So  I  gave  up 
attending  the  evening  lectures,  and  left  off  teaching  in 
the  school,  and  going  to  church,  and  everything." 

"You  were  a  great  fool,  Josephus — you  ought  to 
have  gone  on  and  fought  it  out.  Now  then,  on  the  day 
that  5^ou  lost  the  money,  had  you  seen  Bob — do  you  re- 
member?" 

"That  day?"  the  unlucky  junior  replied;  "I  remem- 
ber every  hour  as  plain  as  if  it  was  to-day.  Yes,  I  saw 
Bob  He  came  to  the  office  half  an  hour  before  I  lost 
the  notes.  He  wanted  me  to  go  out  with  him  in  the 
evening,  I  forget  where — some  gardens,  and  dancing, 
and  prodigalities.  I  refused  to  go.  In  the  evening  I 
saw  him  again,  and  he  did  nothing  but  laugh  while  I 
was  in  misery.  It  seemed  cruel;  and  the  more  I  suf- 
fered he  louder  he  laughed." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  383 

"Did  YOU  never  see  Bob  again?" 

"  No ;  he  went  away  to  sea,  and  he  came  home  and 
went  away  again ;  but  somehow  I  never  saw  him.  It 
is  twenty  years  now  since  he  went  away  last,  and  was 
never  heard  of,  nor  his  ship — so,  of  course,  he's  dead 
long  ago.  But  what  does  it  matter  about  Bob?  And 
these  are  office  hours ;  and  there  will,  really,  be  things 
said  if  we  go  on  talking — do  go  away.'' 

Harr}'  obeyed,  and  left  him ;  but  he  went  straight  to 
the  office  of  the  chief  accountant  and  requested  an  in- 
terview. 

The  chief  accountant  sent  word  that  he  could  com- 
municate his  business  through  one  of  the  clerks.  Harry 
replied  that  his  business  was  of  a  nature  which  could 
not  be  communicated  by  a  clerk— that  it  was  very  seri- 
ous and  important  business,  which  must  be  imparted  to 
the  chief  alone ;  and  that  he  would  wait  his  convenience 
in  the  outer  office.  Presently  he  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  the  great  man. 

"This  is  very  extraordinary,"  said  the  official. 
"  What  can  j^our  business  be,  which  is  so  important 
that  it  must  not  be  intrusted  to  the  clerks?  Now  come 
to  the  point,  young  man — my  time  is  valuable." 

"  I  want  you  to  authorize  me  to  make  a  little  ex- 
amination in  the  junior  clerks'  room." 

"What  examination,  and  wh}'?" 

Harry  gave  him  the  fragment  of  the  letter,  and  ex- 
plained where  he  found  it. 

"  I  understand  nothing.  What  do  you  learn  from 
this  fragment?" 

"There  is  no  date,"  said  Harrj-,  "but  that  matters 
A'ery  little.  You  will  observe  that  it  clearly  refers  to 
my  cousin  Josephus  Cojjpin." 

"That  seems  evident — Josephus  is  not  a  common 
name." 

"  You  know  my  cousin's  version  of  the  loss  of  those 
notes?" 

"  Certainly — he  said  they  must  have  been  stolen  dur- 
ing the  two  or  three  minutes  that  he  was  out  of  the 
room." 

"  Yes — now"  (Harry  wrote  a  few  words  to  fill  up  the 
broken  sentences  of  the  letter)  "read  thai;,  sir." 

"  Good  heavens !" 


384  ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

"My  cousin  tells  me,  too,"  lie  went  on,  "that  this  fel- 
low, Bob  Coppin,  was  in  tiie  office  half  an  hour  before 
the  notes  were  missed — why,  very  likely  he  was  at  the 
time  hanging  about  the  place — and  that  in  the  evening, 
when  his  cousin  was  in  an  agony  of  distress.  Bob  was 
laughing  as  if  the  whole  thing  was  a  joke." 

"  Upon  m}'  word,"  said  the  chief,  "  it  seems  plausible." 

"We  can  try  the  thing  at  once,"  said  Harry,  "But 
I  should  like  you  to  be  present  when  we  do." 

"  Undoubtedly  I  will  be  present — come,  let  us  go  at 
once.  By  the  way,  you  were  the  young  man  recom- 
mended by  Miss  Messenger;  are  you  notV" 

"  Yes.  Not  that  I  have  the  honor  of  knowing  Miss 
Messenger  personally." 

The  chief  accountant  laughed.  Cabinet-makers  do 
not  generally  know  3'oung  ladies  of  position;  and  this 
was  such  a  remarkably  cheeky  young  workman. 

They  took  with  them  four  stout  fellows  from  those 
who  toss  about  the  casks  of  beer.  The  safe  was  one  of 
the  larger  kind,  standing  three  feet  six  inches  high,  on 
a  strong  wooden  box,  witli  an  ojDen  front — it  was  in  the 
corner  next  to  Josephus'  seat.  Between  the  back  of 
the  safe  and  the  wall  was  a  space  of  an  inch  or  so. 

"I  must  trouble  j^ou  to  change  your  seat,"  said  the 
chief  accountant  to  Josephus,  "  we  are  about  to  move 
this  safe." 

Josephus  rose,  and  the  men  presently,  with  mighty 
efforts,  lugged  the  great  heavy  thing  a  foot  or  two  from 
its  place. 

"  Will  you  look,  sir?"  asked  Harry.  "  If  there  is  anj^- 
thing  there,  I  should  like  jon,  who  know  the  whole 
story,  to  find  it." 

The  chief  stooped  over  the  safe  and  looked  behind  it. 
Everybody  was  now  aware  that  something  Avas  going 
to  happen;  and  though  pens  continued  to  be  dipped  into 
inkstands  with  zeal,  and  heads  to  be  bent  over  desks  with 
the  devotion  which  always  seizes  a  junior  clerk  in  pres- 
ence of  his  chief,  all  eyes  were  furtively  turned  to  Jo- 
sephus' corner. 

"  There  is  a  bundle  of  papers, "  he  said.    "  Thank  j^ou. " 

Harry  picked  them  up  and  placed  them  in  his  hands. 

The  only  person  who  paid  no  heed  to  the  proceedings 
was  the  most  concerned. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  385 

The  cliief  accountant  received  them  (a  rolled  bundle, 
not  a  tied -up  parcel,  and  covered  inch  deep  with  black 
dust) .  He  opened  it  and  glanced  at  the  contents — then 
a  strange  and  unaccountable  look  came  into  his  eyes  as 
he  handed  them  to  Josephus. 

"Win  you  oblige  me,  Mr.  Coppin,"  he  said,  "b}^  ex- 
amining those  papers?" 

It  was  the  first  time  that  the  title  of  "  Mr."  had  been 
bestowed  upon  Josephus  during  all  the  years  of  his  long 
servitude.  He  was  troubled  by  it,  and  he  could  not 
understand  the  expression  in  his  chief's  eyes;  and 
v>^hen  he  turned  to  Harry  for  an  explanation  he  met 
eyes  in  which  the  same  sympathy  and  pity  were  ex- 
pressed. When  he  turned  to  the  boys,  his  fellow- 
clerks,  he  was  struck  by  their  faces  of  wondering  ex- 
pectation. 

What  was  going  to  happen? 

Recovering  his  presence  of  mind,  he  held  out  the 
dusty  papers  and  shook  the  dust  off  them. 

Then  he  began  slowly  to  obey  orders,  and  to  examine 
them. 

Suddenly  he  began  to  turn  them  over  with  fierce 
eagerness.     His  eyes  flashed — he  gasped. 

"Come,  Josephus,"  said  his  cousin,  taking  his  arm, 
"gently — genth'.     What  are  they,  these  papers?" 

The  man  laughed,  a  hysterical  laugh. 

"  They  are.    "^Ha !  ha !  they  are— ha !  ha !  ha !" 

He  did  not  finish  because  his  voice  failed  him ;  but 
he  dropped  into  a  chair,  with  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"  They  are  country  bank-notes  and  other  papers,"  said 
Harry,  taking  them  from  his  cousin's  hands — he  had 
interpreted  the  missing  words  rightly. 

The  chief  looked  round  the  room.  "Young  men,"  he 
said  solemnly,  "  a  wonderful  thing  has  happened.  Af- 
ter many  years  of  undeserved  suspicion  and  unmerited 
punishment,  Mr.  Coppin's  character  is  cleared  at  last. 
We  cannot  restore  to  him  the  years  he  has  lost,  but  we 
can  rejoice  that  his  innocence  is  established.'' 

"  Come,  Josephus,"  said  Harry,  "  bear  your  good  fort- 
une as  j"ou  have  borne  the  bad — rouse  yourself." 

The  senior  junior  clerk  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
around.  His  cheeks  were  white.  His  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears ;  his  lips  were  trembling. 


386  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

"  Take  your  cousin  home, "  said  the  chief  to  Harry, 
"and  then  come  back  to  my  office." 

Harr}"  led  Josephus  unresisting  home  to  the  board- 
ing-house. 

"  We  have  had  a  shock,  Mrs.  Bormalack.  Nothing  to 
be  alarmed  about — quite  the  contrary.  The  bank-notes 
have  been  found  after  all  these  years,  and  my  cousii; 
has  earned  his  promotion  and  recovered  his  character. 
Give  him  some  brandy  and  water,  and  make  him  lie 
down  for  a  bit." 

For  the  man  was  dazed — he  could  not  understand  as 
yet  what  had  happened. 

Harry  placed  him  in  the  armchair,  and  left  him  to 
the  care  of  the  landlady.  Then  he  went  back  to  the 
brewer}". 

The  chief  brewer  was  with  the  chief  accountant,  and 
they  were  talking  over  what  was  best  to  be  done ;  said 
very  kind  things  about  intelligence,  without  which 
good  fortune  and  lucky  finds  are  wasted.  And  they 
promised  to  represent  Harry's  conduct  in  a  proper  ligiit 
to  Miss  Messenger,  who  would  be  immediately  commu- 
nicated with;  and  Josephus  would  at  once  receive  a 
very  substantial  addition  to  his  pay,  a  better  position, 
and  more  responsible  work. 

"May  I  suggest,  gentlemen,"  said  Harr>%  "that  a 
man  who  is  fifty-five,  and  has  all  his  life  been  doing 
the  simple  work  of  a  junior,  may  not  be  found  equal  to 
more  responsible  work.'' 

"  That  may  be  the  case." 

"  My  cousin,  when  the  misfortune  happened,  left  off 
taking  any  interest  in  things — I  believe  he  has  never 
Oldened  a  book  or  learned  anything  in  all  these  j^ears," 

"  Well,  we  shall  see. "  A  workman  was  not  to  be 
taken  into  counsel.  "There  is,  however,  something 
here  which  seems  to  concern  yourself.  Your  mother 
was  one  Caroline  Coppin,  was  she  not?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  these  papers  which  were  deposited  by  some 
persons  unknown  with  Mr.  Messenger — most  likely  for 
greater  care — and  placed  in  the  safe  by  him,  belong  to 
you;  and  I  hope  will  prove  of  value  to  you." 

Harry  took  them  without  much  interest,  and  came 
away. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  387 

In  the  evening  Josephus  held  a  reception.  All  his 
contemporaries  in  the  brewery — the  men  who  entered 
Avith  himself — all  those  who  had  passed  over  his  head, 
all  those  with  whom  he  had  been  a  junior  in  the  brew- 
ery, called  to  congratulate  him.  At  the  moment  he  felt 
as  if  this  universal  sympathy  fully  made  up  for  all  his 
sufferings  of  the  past.  Nor  was  it  until  the  morning 
that  he  partly  perceived  the  truth — that  no  amount  of 
sympathy  would  restore  his  vanished  youth,  and  give 
him  what  he  had  lost. 

But  he  will  never  quite  understand  this;  and  he 
looked  upon  himself  as  having  begun  again  from  the 
point  where  he  stopped.  When  the  reception  was  over 
and  the  last  man  gone,  he  began  to  talk  about  his  fu- 
ture. 

"I  shall  go  on  again  with  the  evening  course,"  he 
said,  "  just  where  I  left  off.  I  remember  we  were  hav- 
ing Monday  for  book-keeping  by  single  and  double  en- 
try ;  Tuesday  for  French ;  Thursday  for  arithmetic — 
we  were  in  mixed  fractions;  and  Friday  for  Euclid. 
Then  I  shall  take  up  my  class  at  the  Sunday-school 
again,  and  shall  become  a  full  church-member  of  the 
Wesleyan  connection — for  though  my  father  was  once 
churchwarden  at  Stepney  church,  I  always  favored  the 
Wesleyans  myself." 

He  talked  as  if  he  was  a  boy  again,  with  all  his  life 
before  him,  and,  indeed,  at  the  moment  he  thought  he 
was. 


CHAPTER   XLHL 

O    MY    PROPHETIC   SOUL ! 

Harry  thought  nothing  about  the  papers  which  were 
found  among  the  notes  that  evening,  because  he  was 
wholly  engaged  in  the  contemplation  of  a  man  who 
had  suddenly  gone  back  thirty-five  years  in  his  life. 
The  gray  hairs,  thin  at  the  top  and  gone  at  the  temples, 
were  not,  it  is  true,  replaced  by  the  curly  brown  locks 
of  youth,  though  one  thinks  that  Josephus  must  always 
have  been  a  straight-haired  young  man.  But  it  was 
remarkable  to  hear  that  man  of  fifty-five  talking  as  if 


S83  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN 

thej'ears  had  rolled  backward,  and  he  could  take  up  the 
thread  of  life  where  he  had  drup^jed  it  so  long  ago. 
He  spoke  of  his  evening  lectures  juid  his  Sunday-school 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  boy.  Ho  would  study — work 
of  that  sort  always  paid :  he  would  prepare  his  lessons 
f«or  the  school  beforehand,  and  stand  well  with  the 
superintendent :  it  was  good  for  men  in  business  offices, 
lie  said,  to  have  a  good  character  with  the  superinten- 
dent. Above  all,  he  would  learn  French  and  bookkeep- 
ing, with  mensuration,  gauging,  and  astronomy,  at 
the  Beaumont  Institute.  All  those  things  would  come 
in  useful,  some  time  or  the  other,  at  the  brewer}^ ;  be- 
sides, it  helps  a  man  to  be  considered  studious  in  his 
haibts.  He  became,  in  fact,  in  imagination  a  young 
man  once  more.  And  because  in  the  old  days,  when 
he  had  a  character  to  earn,  he  did  not  smoke  tobacco, 
so  now  he  forgot  that  foriner  solace  of  the  day,  his  even- 
ing pipe. 

"The  brewery,"  he  said,  "is  a  splendid  thing  to  get 
into.  You  can  rise :  j^ou  may  become — ah !  even  chief 
accountant:  you  may  look  forward  to  draw  over  a 
thousand  a  year  at  the  brewer}^,  if  you  are  steady  and 
well  conducted,  and  get  a  good  name.  It  is  not  every 
one,  mind  you,  gets  the  chance  of  such  a  service.  And 
once  in,  alvva3'S  in.  That's  the  pride  of  the  brewery. 
No  turning  out :  there  you  stay,  with  your  salary  al- 
ways  rising,  till  j'ou  die." 

In  the  morning,  the  exultation  of  spirits  was  ex- 
changed for  a  corresponding  depression.  Josephus  went 
to  the  brewer}^,  knowing  that  he  should  sit  on  that  old 
seat  of  his  no  longer. 

He  went  to  look  at  it :  the  w^ooden  stool  was  worn 
black;  the  desk  was  worn  black;  he  knew  every  cut 
and  scratch  in  the  lid  at  which  he  had  written  so  many 
years.  There  were  all  the  books  at  which  he  had 
worked  so  long:  not  hard  work,  nor  work  requiring 
thought,  but  simple  entering  and  ticking  off  of  names, 
which  a  man  can  do  mechanically — on  summer  after- 
noons, with  the  window  open  and  an  occasional  bee 
buzzing  in  from  Hainault  Forest,  and  the  sweet  smell 
of  the  vats  and  the  drowsy  rolling  of  the  machinery — 
one  can  do  the  work  half  asleep  and  never  make  a  mis- 
take.    Now  he  would  have  to  undertake  some  different 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEX.  389 

kind  of  work,  more  responsible  work :  he  wonld  have 
to  order  and  direct ;  he  would  have  a  chair  instead  of  a 
stool,  and  a  table  instead  of  a  desk.  So  that  he  began 
to  wish  that  he  had  in  the  old  days  gone  further  in  his 
studies — but  he  was  always  slow  at  learning — before 
the  accident  happened ;  and  to  wonder  if  anything  at 
all  remained  of  the  knowledge  he  had  then  painfully 
acquired  after  all  these  years. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  nothing  remained.  Josephus 
had  become  perfectly,  delightfully,  inconceivably  stu- 
Ijid.  He  had  forgotten  everything,  and  could  now  learn 
no  new  thing.  Pending  the  decision  of  Miss  Messen- 
ger, to  whom  the  case  was  referred,  they  tried  him  with 
all  sorts  of  simple  work — correspondence,  answering 
letters,  any  of  the  things  which  require  a  little  intelli- 
gence. Josephus  could  do  nothing.  He  sat  like  a 
lielpless  boy  and  looked  at  the  documents.  Then  they 
let  him  alone,  and  for  a  while  he  came  every  da}',  sat  all 
day  long,  half  asleep,  and  did  nothing,  and  was  much 
less  liapp}'  than  when  he  had  been  kept  at  work  from 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  six  o'clock  at  night. 

When  Harry  remembered  the  packet  of  papers  placed 
in  his  hand,  which  was  on  the  following  morning,  he 
read  them.  And  the  effect  of  his  reading  was  that  he 
did  not  go  to  work  that  morning  at  all. 

He  was  not  a  lawyer,  and  the  principal  paper  was  a 
legal  instrument,  the  meaning  of  which  it  took  him 
some  little  time  to  make  out. 

"  Hum — hum — um — why  can't  they  write  plain  Eng- 
lish. 'I  give  to  my  said  tiustees,  John  Skelton  and 
Benjamin  Bunker,  the  three  freehold  houses  as  follows : 
that  called  number  twenty-nine  on  Stepney  Green, 
forty-five  in  Beaumont  Square,  and  twenty-three  in 
Redman's  Row,  upon  trust  to  apply  the  rents  and  in- 
come of  the  same  as  in  their  absolute  discretion  they 
may  think  fit  for  the  maintenance,  education,  and  bene- 
fit of  the  said  Caroline,  until  she  be  twenty-one  years 
old  or  until  she  marry,  and  to  invest  from  time  to  time 
the  accumulations  of  such  rents  and  income  as  is  here- 
intofore  provided,  and  to  apply  the  same  when  invested 
in  all  respects  as  I  direct  concerning  the  last  above- 
mentioned  premises.  And  when  the  said  Caroline  shall 
attain  the  age  of  twenty-one,  or  marr}-,  I  direct  my  said 


390  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

trustees  to  pay  to  her  the  said  rents  and  income  and  the 
income  of  the  accumulation  of  the  same,  if  any  during 
her  life,  by  four  equal  quarterly  payments  for  her  sole 
and  separate  use,  free  from  the  debts  and  engagements 
of  any  husband  or  husbands  she  may  marry ;  and  I  di- 
rect that  on  the  death  of  the  said  Caroline  my  said  trus- 
tees shall  hold  and  stand  possessed  of  all  the  said  prem- 
ises for  such  person  or  persons  and  in  such  maner  in 
all  respects  as  the  said  Caroline  shall  by  deed  or  will 
appoint.  And  in  default  of  such  appointment  and  so 
far  as  the  same  shall  not  extend  upon  trust' — and  so  on 
— and  so  on." 

Harry  read  this  document  with  a  sense,  at  first,  of 
mj'stification.  Then  he  read  it  a  second  time,  and  be- 
gan to  understand  it. 

"The  houses,"  he  said,  "my  mother's  houses,  are 
hers,  free  from  any  debts  contracted  by  her  husband : 
they  are  vested  in  trustees  for  her  behalf ;  she  could  not 
sell  or  part  with  them.  And  the  trustees  were  John 
Skelton  and  Benjamin  Bunker.  John  Skelton — gone 
to  Abraham's  bosom,  I  suppose.  Benjamin  Bunker — 
where  will  he  go  to?  The  houses  were  tied  up — set- 
tled— entailed." 

He  read  the  document  right  through  for  the  third 
time. 

"So,"  he  said.  "The  house  at  number  twenty -nine 
Stepne}'  Green.  That  is  the  hoiise  which  Bunker  calls 
his  own ;  the  house  of  the  Associated  Dressmakers ;  and 
it's  mine — mine."  He  clinched  his  fist  and  looked  dan- 
gerous. "  Then  the  house  at  twenty-three  Redman's 
Row,  and  at  forty-five  Beaumont  Square.  Two  more 
houses.  Also  mine.  And  Bunker,  the  perfidious  Bun- 
ker, calls  them  all  his  own!  What  shall  be  done  to 
Bunker?" 

"Next,"  he  went  on,  after  reading  the  document 
again,  "  Bunker  is  a  fraudulent  trustee,  and  his  brother 
trustee  too,  unless  he  has  gone  dead.  Of  that  there  can 
be  no  doubt  whatever.  That  virtuous  and  benevolent 
Bunker  was  my  mother's  trustee — and  mine.  And  he 
calmly  appropriates  the  trust  to  his  own  uses — Uncle 
Bunker !     Uncle  Bunker !" 

"  I  knew  from  the  beginning  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong.     First,  I  thought  he  had  taken  a  sum  of 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  391 

money  from  Lord  Jocelyn.  Then  I  found  out  that  lie 
had  got  possession  of  houses  in  a  m^^sterious  manner. 
And  now  I  find  that  he  was  simply  the  trustee. 
Wicked  Uncle  Bunker !" 

Armed  with  his  precious  document,  he  put  on  his  hat 
and  walked  straight  off,  resolution  on  his  front,  toward 
his  vmcle's  office.  He  arrived  just  when  Mr.  Bunker 
was  about  to  start  on  a  daily  round  among  his  houses. 
B}'  this  frequent  visitation  he  kept  up  the  hearts  of  his 
tenants,  and  taught  them  the  meaning  of  necessity; 
so  that  they  put  by  their  money  and  religiously  paid 
the  rent.     Else 

"Pray,"  said  Harrj^,  "be  so  good  as  to  take  off  jouv 
hat,  and  sit  down  and  have  five  minutes'  talk  with 
me." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Bunker,  "I  will  not.  You  can  go 
awa}',  do  3'ou  hear?  Be  off;  let  me  lock  my  office  and 
go  about  ni}'  own  business." 

"  Do  take  off  your  hat,  my  uncle. " 

"Go,  sir,  do  you  hear?" 

"  Sit  down  and  let  us  talk — my  honest — trustee !" 

Mr.  Bunker  dropped  into  a  chair. 

In  all  the  conversations  and  dramatic  scenes  made 
up  in  his  ovra  mind  to  account  for  the  possession  of  the 
houses,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  fact  of  his 
having  been  a  trustee  would  come  to  light.  All  were 
dead,  except  himself,  who  were  concerned  in  that  trust: 
he  had  forgotten  by  this  time  that  there  was  any  deed : 
by  ignoring  the  trust  he  simplified,  to  his  own  mind, 
the  transfer  of  the  houses ;  and  during  all  these  years 
he  had  almost  forgottf^n  the  obligations  of  the  trust. 

"What  do  5-0U  mean?"  he  stammered. 

"  Virtuous  uncle !  I  mean  that  I  know  all.  Do  you 
quite  understand  me?  I  mean  really  and  truly  all. 
Yes :  all  that  there  is  to  know — all  that  you  hide  away 
in  5"our  own  mind  and  think  that  no  one  knows." 

"  What — what — what  do  you  know?" 

"First,  I  know  which  the  houses  are — I  mean  my 
houses — my  mother's  houses.  The  house  in  Stepney 
Green  that  you  have  let  to  Miss  Kennedy  is  one ;  a  house 
in  Beaumont  Square — do  you  wish  to  know  the  num- 
ber?— is  another;  and  a  house  in  Redman's  Row — and 
do  you  want  to  know  the  number  of  that? — is  the  third. 


393  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOyS  OF  3IEN. 

You  have  collected  the  rents  of  those  houses  and  paid 
those  rents  to  your  own  account  for  twenty  years  and 
more." 

"Go  on.  Let  us  hear  what  you  pretend  to  know. 
Suppose  they  were  Caroline's  houses,  what  then'?"  He 
spoke  with  an  attempt  at  bounce ;  but  he  was  pale,  and 
his  eyes  were  unsteady. 

"  This  next.  These  houses,  man  of  probity,  were  not 
my  mother's  propert}^  to  dispose  of  as  she  pleased." 

''  Oh!  whose  were  thej'",  then?" 

"They  were  settled  upon  her  and  her  heirs  after  her; 
and  the  property  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  two  trus- 
tees: yourself,  my  praiseworthy;  and  a  certain  John 
Skelton,  of  whom  I  know  nothing.  Presumably,  he  is 
dead." 

Mr.  Bunker  made  no  reply  at  all.  But  his  cheek 
grew  paler. 

"  Shall  I  repeat  this  statement,  or  is  that  enough  for 
you?"  asked  Harry.  "The  situation  is  pretty,  perhaps 
not  novel :  the  heir  has  gone  awaj',  probablj^  never  to 
come  back  again ;  the  trustee,  sole  surviving,  no  doubt 
receives  the  rents.  Heir  comes  back.  Trustee  swears 
the  houses  are  his  own.  When  the  trustee  is  brought 
before  a  court  of  law  and  convicted,  the  judge  sa)'s  that 
the  case  is  one  of  peculiar  enormit3%  and  must  be  met 
by  transportation  for  five-and-twenty  years ;  five — and 
—twenty — years,  my  patriarch !  think  of  that,  in  uni- 
form and  with  short  hair." 

Mr.  Bunker  said  nothing.  But  by  the  agitation  of 
his  fingers  it  was  plain  that  he  was  thinking  a  great 
deal. 

"  I  told  you,"  cried  Harr5\  "  I  warned  you,  some  time 
ago,  that  you  must  now  begin  to  think  seriously  about 
handcuffs  and  prison,  and  men  in  blue.  The  time  has 
come  now,  when,  unless  3^ou  make  restitution  of  all  that 
you  have  taken,  action  will  be  taken,  and  j^ou  will  real- 
ize what  it  is  that  people  think  of  the  fraudulent  trustee. 
Uncle  Bunker,  my  heart  bleeds  for  you." 

"Why  did  you  come  here?"  asked  his  uncle,  pit- 
eously.  "Wh}' did  you  come  here  at  all?  We  got  on 
very  well  without  you — very  well  and  comfortably,  in- 
deed." 

This  seemed  a  feeble  sort  of  bleat.     But,  in  fact,  the 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  ?m 

Bunker's  mind  was  for  the  moment  prostrated.      He 
had  no  sound  resistance  left. 

"I  offered  you,"  he  went  on,  "twenty-five  pounds— 
to  go.  _  I'll  double  it— there.  I'll  give  you  fifty  pounds 
to  go,  if  you'll  go  at  once.  So  that  there  will  be  an  end 
to  all  this  trouble." 

"Consider,"  said  Harry,  "there's  the  rent  of  Miss 
Kennedy's  house— sixty-five  pounds  a  year  for  that; 
there's  the  house  in  Beaumont  Square— fifty  for  that ; 
and  the  house  in  Redman's  Row  at  five-and-twenty  at 
least:  comes  to  a  hundred  and  forty  pounds  a.  year, 
which  you  have  drawn,  my  precious  uncle,  for  twenty- 
one  years  at  least.  That  makes,  without  counting  in- 
terest, two  thousand  nine  hundred  and  forty  pounds. 
And  you  want  to  buy  me  off  for  fifty  pounds !" 

"  Not  half  the  money— not  half  the  money !"  his  uncle 
groaned.  "  There's  repairs  and  painting— and  bad  ten- 
ants; not  half  the  money." 

"We  will  say,  then,"  lightly  replied  his  nephew,  as 
if  nme  hundred  were  a  trifle,  "  we  will  say  two  thou- 
sand pounds.  The  heir  to  that  property  has  come  back ; 
he  says,  'Give  me  my  houses,  and  give  me  an  account 
of  the  discharge  of  your  trust.'  Now"— Harry  rose 
from  the  table  on  which  he  had  been  sitting— "let  us 
have  no  more  bounce :  the  game  is  up.  I  have  in  my 
pocket— here,"  he  tapped  his  coat-pocket,  "the  original 
deed  itself.  Do  you  want  to  know  where  it  was  found? 
Behind  a  safe  at  the  Brewery,  where  it  was  hidden  by 
your  brother-in-law.  Bob  Coppin,  with  all  the  country 
notes  which  got  Josephus  into  a  mess.  As  for  the  date 
I  will  remind  you  that  it  was  executed  about  thirtv-five 
years  ago,  when  my  mother  was  still  a  girl  and  unmar- 
ried, and  3'ou  had  recently  married  her  sister.  I  have 
the  deed  here.  What  is  more,  it  has  been  seen  by  the 
chief  accountant  at  the  Brewery,  who  gave  it  me. 
Bunker,  the  game  is  up." 

He  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Have  you  anything  to  say  before  I  go?  I  am  now 
going  straight  to  a  lawyer." 

"What  is  the— the— lowest— O  good  Lord  !— the 
very  lowest  figure  that  you  Avill  take  to  square  it?  Oh ! 
be  merciful ;  I  am  a  poor  man,  indeed  a  very  poor  man, 


394  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEX. 

though  they  think  me  warm.  Yet  I  must  scrape  and 
save  to  get  along  at  all." 

"Two  thousand,"  said  Harry. 

"  Make  it  fifteen  hundred.  Oh !  fifteen  hundred  to 
clear  off  all  scores,  and  then  you  can  go  away  out  of  the 
place;  I  could  borrow  fifteen  hundred." 

"Two  thousand,"  Harry  repeated.  "Of  course,  be- 
sides the  houses,  which  are  mine." 

"Besides  the  houses?  Never.  You  may  do  j^our 
worst.  You  may  drag  your  poor  old  uncle,  now  sixty 
years  of  age,  before  the  courts,  but  two  thousand  be- 
sides the  houses?     Never!" 

He  banged  the  floor  with  his  stick,  but  his  agitation 
was  betrayed  by  the  nervous  tapping  of  the  end  upon 
the  oil-cloth  which  followed  the  first  hasty  bang. 

"No  bounce,  if  you  please."  Harry  took  out  his 
watch.  "I  will  give  you  five  minutes  to  decide;  or,  if 
your  mind  is  already  made  up,  I  will  go  and  ask  advice 
of  a  law^'er  at  once." 

"  I  cannot  give  you  that  sum  of  money,"  Bunker  de- 
clared ;  "  it  is  not  that  I  would  not ;  I  would  if  I  could. 
Business  has  been  bad ;  sometimes  I've  spent  more  than 
I've  made;  and  what  little  I've  saved  I  meant  alwaj^s 
for  you — I  did,  indeed.  I  said,  'I  will  make  it  up  to 
him.     He  shall  have  it  back  with '  " 

"One  minute  gone,"  said  Harry,  relentlessly. 

"  Oh !  this  is  dreadful.  Why,  to  get  even  fifteen 
hundred  I  should  have  to  sell  all  my  little  property  at  a 
loss;  and  what  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  to  sell  property  at 
a  loss !  Give  me  more  time  to  consider,  only  a  week  or 
so,  just  to  look  round." 

"  Three  minutes  left, "  said  Harry  the  hardened. 

"  Oh !  oh !  oh !"  He  burst  into  tears  and  weeping  of 
genuine  grief,  and  shame,  and  rage.  "  Oh,  that  a 
nephew  should  be  found  to  persecute  his  uncle  in  such 
awa}^!  Where  is  your  Christian  charity?  Where  is 
forgiving  and  remitting?" 

"  Only  two  minutes  left,"  said  Harry,  unmoved. 

Then  Bunker  fell  upon  his  knees :  he  grovelled  and 
imploi^ed  pardon;  he  offered  one  house,  two  houses,  and 
twelve  hundred  pounds,  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  eigh- 
teen hundred  pounds. 

"One  minute  left,"  said  Harry. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  3IEX.  395 

Then  he  sat  down  and  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes, 
and  in  good  round  terms — in  Poplar,  Limehouse,  Shad- 
well,  Wajiping,  and  Ratcliff  Highway  terms — he  cursed 
his  nephew,  and  the  houses,  and  the  trust,  and  all  that 
therein  lay,  because,  before  the  temptation  came,  he 
was  an  honest  man,  whereas  now  he  should  never  be 
able  to  look  Stepney  in  the  face  again. 

"Time's  up,"  said  Harry,  putting  on  his  hat. 

In  face  of  the  inevitable,  Mr.  Bunker  showed  an  im- 
mediate change  of  front.  He  neither  prayed,  nor  wept, 
nor  swore.  He  became  once  more  the  complete  man 
of  business.  He  left  the  stool  of  humiliation,  and  seated 
himself  on  his  oa^ti  Windsor  chair  before  his  own  table. 
Here,  pen  in  hand,  he  seemed  as  if  he  were  dictating 
rather  than  accepting  terms. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said.     "  I  accept." 

"Very  good,"  Harry  replied.  "You  know  what  is 
best  for  yourself.  As  for  me,  I  don't  want  to  make 
more  fuss  than  is  necessary.     You  know  the  terms?" 

"Two  thousand  down;  the  three  houses;  and  a  com- 
plete discharge  in  full  of  all  claims.  Those  are  the  con- 
ditions." 

"Yes,  those  are  the  conditions." 

"  I  will  draw  up  the  discharge, "  said  Mr.  Bunker, 
"  and  then  no  one  need  be  any  the  wiser. " 

Harry  laughed.  This  cool  and  business-like  compro- 
mise of  felony  pleased  him. 

"  You  may  draw  it  up  if  j^ou  like.  But  my  opinion 
of  your  ability  is  so  great,  that  I  shall  have  to  show  the 
document  to  a  solicitor  for  his  approval  and  admira- 
tion." 

Mr.  Bunker  was  disconcerted.  He  had  hoped — that 
is,  thought — he  saw  his  waj^;  but  never  mind.  He 
quickly  recovered  and  said,  with  decision : 

"  Go  to  Lawver  Pike,  in  the  Mile  End  Road . " 

"  ^yhy?     Is  the  Honorable  Pike  a  friend  of  j'ours?" 

"No,  he  isn't;  that  is  why  I  want  you  to  go  to  him. 
Tell  him  thatj'ou  and  I  have  long  been  wishing  to  clear 
up  these  accounts,  and  that  3'ou've  agreed  to  take  the 
two  thousand  with  the  houses."  Mr.  Bunker  seemed 
now  chiefly  anxious  that  the  late  deplorable  scene  should 
be  at  once  forgotten  and  forgiven.  "  He  said  the  other 
day  that  I  was  nothing  better  than  a  common  grinder 


396  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

and  oppressor.  Now,  when  lie  sees  what  an  honorable 
trustee  I  am,  he  will  be  sorry  he  said  that.  You  can 
tell  everybody  if  you  like.  Why,  what  is  it?  Here's 
my  nephew  comes  home  to  me  and  says,  'Give  me  my 
houses.'  I  say,  'Prove  your  title.'  Didn't  I  say  so? 
How  was  I  to  know  that  he  was  my  nephew?  Then 
the  gentleman  comes  who  took  him  away,  and  says, 
'He  is  your  long-lost  nephew ; '  and  I  say,  'Take  your 
houses,  young  man,  with  the  accumulations  of  the  rent 
hoarded  up  for  you. '  Why,  you  can  tell  everybody  that 
story. " 

"  I  will  leave  you  to  tell  it,  Bunker,  your  own  way. 
Everybody  will  believe  that  way  of  telling  the  story. 
What  is  more,  I  will  not  go  out  of  my  way  to  contra- 
dict it." 

"  Very  good,  then.  And  on  that  understanding  I 
withdraw  all  the  harsh  things  I  may  have  said  to  you, 
nephew.     And  we  can  be  good  friends  again. " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like, "  said  Harry,  and  fairly  ran 
away  for  fear  of  being  called  upon  to  make  more  con- 
cessions. 

"  It's  a  terrible  blow !"  The  old  man  sat  down  and 
wiped  his  forehead.  "  To  think  of  two  thousand  down ! 
But  it  might  have  been  much  worse.  Ah !  it  might 
have  been  very,  very  much  worse.  I've  done  better 
than  I  expected,  when  he  said  he  had  the  papers.  .  The 
young  man's  a  fool — a  mere  fool.  The  houses  let  for 
£150  a  year,  and  they  have  never  been  empty  for  six 
months  together;  and  the  outside  repairs  are  a  trifle, 
and  I've  saved  it  all  every  j^ear.  Ha!  now  a  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  a  yea."  for  twenty  j-ears  and  more, 
at  compound  interest  only  five  per  cent.,  is  close  on 
£5,000.  I've  calculated  it  out  often  enough  to  know. 
Yes,  and  I've  made  five  per  cent,  on  it,  and  sometimes 
six  and  seven,  and  more,  with  no  losses.  It  niight 
have  been  far,  far  worse.  It's  come  to  £7,000  if  it's  a 
penny.  And  to  get  rid  of  that  awful  fear  and  that 
devil  of  a  boy  with  his  grins  and  his  sneers  at  £2,000, 
why,  it's  cheap,  I  call  it  cheap.  As  for  the  houses,  I'll 
get  them  back,  see  if  I  don't." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  397 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

A   FOOL   AND   HIS   MONEY. 

Mr.  Pike,  the  solicitor  of  the  Mile  End  Road,  does 
not  belong  to  the  stoiy— which  is  a  pity,  because  he  has 
manj^  enviable  qualities— further  than  is  connected  with 
Harry's  interview  with  him. 

He  read  the  documents  and  heard  the  story  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  When  he  had  quite  mastered  all  the 
details  he  began  mildly  to  express  astonishment  and 
pity  that  any  young  man  could  be  such  a  fool.  This 
was  hard,  because  Harry  really  thought  he  had  done  a 
mighty  clever  thing.  "You  have  been  taken  in,  sir,"' 
said  Mr.  Pike,  "in  a  most  barefaced  and  impudent 
manner.  Two  thousand  pounds !  Why,  the  mere  rent 
alone,  without  counting  interest,  is  three  thousand. 
Go  away,  sir ;  find  out  this  fraudulent  impostor,  and  tell 
him  that  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  short  of 
a  full  account  and  complete  restitution." 
"  I  cannot  do  that,^"  said  Harry. 
"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  have  passed  my  word." 
"  I  think,  5'oung  man,  you  said  3-ou  were  a  cabinet- 
maker— though  you  look  something' better." 
"  Yes,  I  belong  to  that  trade." 

"  Since  when,  may  I  ask,  have  cabinet-makers  been 
so  punctilious  as  to  their  promises?" 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Harry  gravely,  "we  have  turned 
over  a  new  leaf,  and  are  now  all  on  the  side  of  truth 
and  honor." 

"  Humph  !  Then  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  give 
the  man  a  receipt  in  full  and  a  discharge.  You  are  of 
age;  you  can  do  this  if  you  like.  Shall  I  draw  it  up 
for  you,  and  receive  the  money,  and  take  over  the 
houses?" 

This  was  settled,  therefore,  and  in  this  way  Harry 
became  a  rich  man,  with  houses  and  money  in  the 
funds. 

As  for  Bunker,  he  made  the  greatest  mistake  in  his 


398  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

life  when  he  sent  his  nephew  to  Mr.  Pike.  He  should 
have  known,  but  he  was  like  the  ostrich  when  he  runs 
his  head  into  the  sand,  and  believes  from  the  secure  re- 
treat that  he  is  invisible  to  his  hunters.  For  his  own 
version  of  the  incident  was  palpably  absurd ;  and,  be- 
sides, Mr.  Pike  heard  Harry's  account  of  the  matter. 
Therefore,  though  Bunker  thought  to  heap  coals  of  lire 
upon  his  enemy's  head,  he  only  succeeded  in  throwing 
them  under  his  feet,  which  made  him  kick — "for  who 
can  go  upon  hot  coals  and  his  feet  not  be  burned?"  The 
good  man  is  now,  therefore,  laboring  under  a  cloud  of 
prejudice  which  does  not  seem  to  lift,  though  perhaps  he 
will  live  it  down.  Other  events  have  happened  since, 
which  have  operated  to  his  prejudice.  Ever3'body 
knows  how  he  received  his  nephew;  what  wicked  things 
lie  said  everywhere  about  him ;  and  what  rumors  he 
spread  about  ]\Iiss  Kennedy :  everybody  knows  that  he 
had  to  disgorge  houses — actually,  houses — which  he  had 
appropriated.  This  knowledge  is  common  property; 
and  it  is  extremely  unpleasant  for  ]\Ir.  Bunker  when  he 
takes  his  walks  abroad  to  be  cruellj"  assailed  by  ques- 
tions which  hit  harder  than  any  brickbat:  they  are 
hurled  at  him  by  working-men  :ind  by  street  boys. 
"  Who  stole  the  'ouse'?"  for  instance,  is  a  very  nasty 
thing  to  be  said  to  a  gentleman  who  is  professionally 
connected  with  house  property.  I  know  not  how  this 
knowledge  came  to  be  so  generally  known.  Certainly 
Harry  did  not  spread  it  abroad.  People,  however,  are 
not  fools,  and  can  put  things  together ;  where  the  evil- 
doings  and  backslidings  of  their  friends  are  concerned 
they  are  surprisingly  sharp. 

Now  when  the  ownership  of  the  house  in  Stepney 
Green  became  generally  known,  there  immediately 
sprang  up,  as  always  happens  on  occasions  of  discovery, 
rooting-out  of  facts,  or  exposure  of  wickedness,  quite  a 
large  crop  of  old  inhabitants  ready  to  declare  that  they 
knew  all  along  that  the  house  on  Stepney  Green  was 
one  of  those  belonging  to  old  Mr.  Coppin.  He  bought 
it,  they  said,  of  Mr.  Messenger,  who  was  born  there; 
and  it  was  one  of  three  left  to  Caroline,  who  died 
young.  Who  would  believe  that  Mr.  Bunker  could 
have  been  so  wicked?  Where  is  faith  in  brother  man 
since  so  eminent  a  professor  of  honesty  has  fallen? 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  399 

Mr.  Bunker  suffers,  but  he  suffers  in  silence;  he  may 
be  seen  any  day  in  the  neighborhood  of  Stepney  Green, 
still  engaged  in  his  usual  business;  people  may  talk  be- 
hind his  back,  but  talk  breaks  no  bones;  they  don't 
dare  talk  before  his  face;  though  he  has  lost  two  thous- 
and pounds,  there  is  still  money  left — he  feels  that  he 
is  a  warm  man,  and  has  money  to  leave  behind  him ; 
it  will  be  said  of  him  that  he  cut  up  well.  Warmth  of 
all  kinds  comforts  a  man ;  but  he  confesses  with  a  pang 
that  he  did  wrong  to  send  his  nephew  to  that  lawyer, 
who  took  the  opportunity,  when  he  drew  up  the  dis- 
charge and  receipt,  of  giving  him  an  opinion — unasked 
and  unpaid  for — as  to  his  conduct  in  connection  with 
the  trust.  There  could  be  no  mistake  at  all  about  the 
meaning  and  force  of  that  opinion.  And,  oddly 
enough,  whenever  Mr.  Bunker  sees  the  queen's  omni- 
bus— that  dark  painted  vehicle,  driven  by  a  policeman — 
pass  along  the  road,  he  thinks  of  Mr.  Pike,  and  that 
opinion  returns  to  hismemor}^,  and  he  feels  just  exactly 
as  if  a  bucket  of  cold  water  was  trickling  down  his 
back  by  the  nape  of  the  neck.  Even  in  warm  weather 
this  is  disagreeable.  And  it  shows  that  the  lawj^er 
must  have  spoken  very  strong  words  indeed,  and  that 
although  Mr.  Bunker,  like  the  simple  ones  and  the 
scorners,  wished  for  none  of  the  lawyer's  counsel,  un- 
like them  he  did  not  despise  their  reproof.  Yet  he  is 
happier,  now  that  the  blow  has  fallen,  than  he  was 
while  he  was  awaiting  it  and  dreaming  of  handcuffs. 

We  anticipate ;  but  we  have,  indeed,  seen  almost  the 
last  of  Mr.  Bunker.  It  is  sad  to  part  with  him.  But 
we  have  no  choice. 

In  the  evening  Harry  went  as  usual  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. He  stayed,  however,  after  the  girls  went 
away.  There  Avas  nothing  unusual  in  his  doing  so. 
"Girls  in  my  position,"  said  the  dressmaker,  "are  not 
tied  by  the  ordinary  rules."  To-night,  however,  he 
had  something  to  say. 

"Congratulate  me,"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone.  "  I  have  turned  out,  as  the  story-books  say,  to 
be  the  heir  to  vast  sums  of  money." 

Angela  turned  pale.  She  was  reassured,  however, 
on  learning  the  extent  of  the  heritage. 

"Consider  my  romantic   story,"  said   Harry.     "In- 


400  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

stead  of  finding  myself  the  long-lost  heir,  strawberry- 
mark  and  all,  to  an  earldom,  1  am  the  son  of  a  sergeant 
in  the  Line.  And  then,  just  as  I  am  getting  over  the 
blow,  I  find  myself  the  owner  of  three  houses  and 
two  thousand  pounds.  What  workman  ever  had  two 
thousand  pounds  before?  There  was  an  under-gardener 
I  knew,"  he  went  on  meditatively,  "who  once  got  a 
hundred;  he  called  it  a  round  hundred,  I  remember. 
He  and  his  wife  went  on  the  hospitable  drink  for  a 
fortnight;  then  they  went  to  hospital  for  a  month  with 
trimmings;  cind  then  went  back  to  work — the  money 
all  gone — and  joined  the  Primitive  Methodists.  Can't 
we  do  something  superior  in  the  shape  of  a  burst  or 
a  boom,  for  the  girls,  with  two  thousand  pounds?" 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Angela,  "how  you  got  it." 

He  narrated  the  whole  story,  for  her  instruction  and 
amusement,  with  some  dramatic  force,  impersonating 
Bunker's  wrath,  terror,  and  entreaties,  and  final  busi- 
ness-like collapse. 

"  So  that, "  said  Angela,  "  you  are  now  a  man  of 
property,  and  will,  I  suppose,  give  up  the  work  at  the 
brewery." 

"  Do  you  think  I  should?" 

"  I  do  not  like  to  see  any  man  idle,  and" — she  hesi- 
tated— "especially  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Harry.  "Then  I  remain.  The 
question  of  the  two  thousand  pounds — my  cool  two 
thousand — I  am  the  winner  of  the  two  thousand — in  re- 
serve. As  for  this  house,  however,  decided  steps  must 
be  taken.  Listen,  Queen  of  the  Mystery  of  Dress !  You 
pay  Bunker  sixty-five  pounds  a  year  or  so  for  the  rent 
of  this  house;  that  is  a  good  large  deduction  from  the 
profits  of  the  Association.  I  have  been  thinking,  if  you 
approve,  that  I  will  have  this  house  conveyed  to  you  in 
trust  for  the  Association.     Then  you  will  be  rent-free." 

"  But  that  is  a  very,  very  generous  offer.  You  really 
wish  to  give  us  this  house  altogether  for  ourselves !" 

"  If  5'ou  will  accept  it." 

"You  have  only  these  houses,  and  you  give  us  the 
best  of  them.     Is  it  right  and  just  to  strip  yourself?" 

"  How  many  houses  should  I  have?  Now  there  are 
two  left,  and  their  rent  brings  in  seventy  pounds  a  year, 
and  I  have  two  thousand  pounds  which  will  bring  in 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  401 

another  eighty  pounds  a  year.  I  am  rich — much  too 
rich  for  a  common  cabinet-maker." 

"  Oh !"  she  said,  "  what  can  we  do  but  accept?  And 
how  shall  we  show  our  gratitude?  But,  indeed,  we 
can  do  nothing. " 

"I  want  nothing,"  said  Harry.  "I  have  had  so 
much  happiness  in  this  place  that  I  can  want  for  noth- 
ing.    It  is  for  me  to  show  my  gratitude." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied,  giving  him  her  hand.  He 
stooped  and  kissed  it,  but  humbl}",  as  one  w^ho  accepts 
a  small  favor  gratefully  and  asks  for  no  more. 

They  were  alone  in  the  drawing-room;  the  fire  was 
low;  only  one  lamp  was  burning;  Angela  was  sitting 
beside  the  fire;  her  face  was  turned  from  him.  A 
mighty  wave  of  love  w^as  mounting  in  the  young  man's 
brain;  but  a  little  more,  a  very  little  more,  and  he 
would  have  been  kneeling  at  her  feet.  She  felt  the 
danger ;  she  felt  it  the  more  readily  because  she  was 
so  deeply  moved  herself.  What  had  she  given  the 
girls,  out  of  her  abundance,  compared  with  what  he 
had  given  out  of  his  slender  portion?  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  touched 
his  hand  again. 

'•  Do  not  forget  j^^our  promise,"  she  said. 

"  My  promise?     Oh !  how  long " 

"Patience,"  she  replied.  ''  Give  me  a  little  while — a 
little  while — onh^ — and " 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  kissfng  her  hand  again. 
"Forgive  me." 

"Let  me  go,"  she  went  on.  "It  is  eleven  o'clock." 
They  put  out  the  lamp  and  went  out.  The  night  was 
clear  and  bright. 

"  Do  not  go  in  just  j'et,"  said  Harry.  "  It  is  pleasant 
out  here,  and  I  think  the  stars  are  brighter  than  they 
are  at  the  West  End." 

'■'  Everything  is  better  here, "  said  Angela,  "  than  at 
the  West  End .  Here  we  have  hearts,  and  can  feel  for 
each  other.  Here  we  are  all  alike — workmen  and  work- 
women together." 

"  You  are  a  prejudiced  person.  Let  us  talk  of  the 
Palace  of  Delight — your  dream." 

"Your  invention,"  said  Angela. 

"Won't  mv  two  thousand  go  some  Avav  in  starting 


402  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

it?  Perhaps,  if  we  could  just  start  it,  the  thing  would 
go  on  of  its  own  accord.  Why,  see  what  you  have 
done  with  j^our  girls  already." 

"  But  I  must  have  a  big  Palace — a  noble  building,  fur- 
nished with  everj'thing  that  we  want.  No,  my  friend, 
we  will  take  your  house  because  it  is  a  great  and  noble 
gift,  but  you  shall  not  sacrifice  your  money.  Yet  we 
will  have  that  Palace,  and  before  long.  And  when  it 
is  ready " 

"Yes,  when  it  is  ready." 

"Perhaps  the  opening  of  the  Palace  will  be,  for  all 
of  us,  the  beginning  of  a  new  happiness. " 

"  You  speak  in  a  parable. " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  speak  in  sober  earnestness.  Now 
let  me  go.  Remember  what  I  say ;  the  opening  of  the 
Palace  may  be,  if  you  will — for  all  of  us " 

"  For  you  and  me?" 

"For — yes — for  you — and  for  me.    Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

LADY  DAVENANT'S  DINNER-PARTY. 

Lady  Davenant  had  now  been  in  full  enjoyment  of 
her  title  in  Portman  Square,  where  one  enjoys  such 
things  more  thoroughly  than  on  Stepney  Green,  for 
four  or  five  weeks.  She  at  first  enjoyed  it  so  much  that 
she  thought  of  nothing  but  the  mere  pleasure  of  the 
greatness.  She  felt  an  uplifting  of  heart  every  time 
she  walked  up  and  down  the  stately  stairs;  another 
every  time  she  sat  at  the  well-furnished  dinner  table ; 
and  another  whenever  she  looked  about  her  in  the 
drawing-room.  She  wrote  copious  letters  to  her  friend 
Aurelia  Tucker  during  these  days.  She  explained  with 
fulness  of  detail,  and  in  terms  calculated  to  make  that 
lady  expire  of  envy,  the  splendor  of  her  position ;  and 
for  at  least  five  weeks  she  felt  as  if  the  hospitality  of 
Miss  Messenger  actually  brought  with  it  a  complete  re- 
cognition of  her  claim.  Her  husband,  not  so  sanguine 
as  herself,  knew  very  well  that  the  time  would  come 
when  the  Case  would  haA'e  to  be  taken  up  again  and 
sent  in  to  the  proper  quarter  for  examination.     Mean- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  403 

time  he  was  resigned,  and  even  happy.  Three  square 
meals  a  day,  each  of  them  abundant,  each  a  masterpiece 
of  art,  were  enough  to  satisfy  that  remarkable  tAvist 
which,  as  her  ladyship  was  persuaded,  one  knows  not 
on  what  grounds,  had  always  been  a  distinguishing 
mark  of  the  Davenants.  Familiarity  speedily  recon- 
ciled him  to  the  presence  of  the  footmen ;  he  found  in 
the  library  a  most  delightful  chair  in  which  he  could 
sleep  all  the  morning;  and  it  pleased  him  to  be  driven 
through  the  streets  in  a  luxurious  carriage  under  soft, 
warm  furs,  in  which  one  can  take  the  air  and  get  a 
splendid  appetite  without  fatigue. 

They  were  seen  about  a  great  deal.  It  was  a  part  of 
Angela's  design  that  they  should,  when  the  time  came 
for  going  back  again,  seem  to  themselves  to  have 
formed  a  part  of  the  best  society  in  London.  There- 
fore she  gave  instructions  to  her  maid  that  her  visitors 
were  to  go  to  all  the  public  places,  the  theatres,  con- 
certs, exhibitions,  and  places  of  amusement.  The  little 
American  lady  knew  so  little  what  she  ought  to  see  and 
whither  she  ought  to  go,  that  she  fell  back  on  Campion 
for  advice  and  help.  It  was  Campion  who  suggested  a 
theatre  in  the  evening,  the  Exhibition  of  Old  Masters 
or  the  Grosvenor  Gallery  in  the  morning,  and  Regent 
Street  in  the  afternoon;  it  was  Campion  who  pointed 
out  the  recognized  superiority  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
considered  as  a  place  of  worship  for  a  lady  of  exalted 
rank,  over  a  chapel  up  a  back  street,  of  the  Baptist  per- 
suasion, to  which  at  her  own  home  Lady  Davenant  had 
belonged.  It  was  Campion  who  went  with  her  and 
showed  her  the  shops,  and  taught  her  the  delightful  art 
of  spending  her  money — the  money  "lent"  her  by  ]\Iiss 
Messenger — in  the  manner  becoming  to  a  peeress.  She 
was  so  clever  and  sharp,  that  she  caught  at  every  hint 
dropped  by  the  lady's-maid ;  she  reformed  her  husband's 
ideas  of  evening-dress ;  she  humored  his  weaknesses ; 
she  let  him  keep  his  eyes  wide  open  at  a  farce  or  a  bal- 
let on  the  understanding  that  at  a  concert  or  a  sermon 
he  might  blamelessly  sleep  through  it;  she  even  began 
to  acquire  rudimentary  ideas  on  the  principles  of  art! 

"I  confess,  my  dear  Aurelia,"  she  wrote,  "that  habit 
soon  renders  even  these  marble  halls  familiar.  I  have 
become  perfectly  reconciled  to  the  splendor  of  Enghsh 


404  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

patrician  life,  and  now  feel  as  if  I  had  beei  jora,  to  it. 
Tall  footmen  no  longer  frighten  me,  nor  ine  shouting 
of  one's  name  after  the  theatre.  Of  course  the  oatwartl 
marks  of  respect  one  receives  as  one's  due,  when  one 
belongs,  by  the  gift  of  Providence,  to  a  great  and  noble 
house." 

This  was  all  very  pleasant ;  yet  Lady  Davenant  be- 
gan to  yearn  for  somebody,  if  it  were  only  Mrs,  Bor- 
malack,  with  whom  she  could  converse.  She  wanted 
a  long  chat.  Perhaps  Miss  Kennedy  or  Mrs.  Bor- 
malack,  or  the  sprightly  Mr.  Goslett,  might  be  induced 
to  come  and  spend  a  morning  with  her,  or  a  whole  day, 
if  only  they  would  not  feel  shy  and  frightened  in  so 
splendid  a  place. 

Meantime  some  one  "  connected  with  the  Press"  got 
to  hear  of  a  soi-clisant  Lord  Daveiiant  who  was  often 
to  be  seen  with  his  wife  in  boxes  at  theatres  and  other 
places  of  resort.  He  heard,  this  intellectual  connection 
of  the  Press,  people  asking  each  other  who  Lord  Dave- 
nant was ;  he  incjuired  of  the  Red  Book,  and  received 
no  response ;  he  thereupon  perceived  that  here  was  an 
opportunity  for  a  sensation  and  a  mystery.  He  found 
out  where  Lord  Davenant  was  living,  b}"  great  good 
luck — it  was  through  taking  a  single  four  of  whiskey 
in  a  bar  frequented  by  gentlemen  in  plush ;  and  he  pro- 
ceeded to  call  upon  his  lordship  and  to  interview  him. 

The  result  appeared  in  a  long  cominuuique  which 
attracted  general  and  immediate  interest.  The  jour- 
nalist set  forth  at  length  and  in  the  most  graphic  man- 
ner the  strange  and  romantic  career  of  the  condescend- 
ing wheelwright;  he  showed  how  the  discovery  was 
made,  and  how,  after  many  years,  the  illustrious  pair 
had  crossed  the  Atlantic  to  put  forward  their  claim ;  and 
how  they  were  offered  the  noble  hospitalitj'  of  a  young 
lady  of  princely  fortune.  It  was  a  most  delightful  god- 
send to  the  paper  in  which  it  appeared,  and  it  came  at 
a  time  when  the  House  was  not  sitting,  and  there  was 
no  wringle-wrangle  of  debates  to  furnish  material  for 
the  columns  of  big  tjq^e  which  are  supposed  to  sway 
the  masses.  The  other  papers  therefore  seized  upon  the 
topic  and  had  leading  articles  upon  it,  in  which  the 
false  Demetrius,  the  pretending  Palseologus,  Perkin 
Warbeck,  Lambert   Simnel,  George   Psalmanazar,  the 


ALL  SOFTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  405 

Languishing  Nobleman,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  the  Count  of 
Albany,  with  other  claims  and  claimants,  fiirnished 
illustrations  to  the  claims  of  the  Davenants.  The  pub- 
licity given  to  the  Case  by  these  articles  delighted  her 
ladyship  beyond  everj^thing,  while  it  abashed  and  con- 
founded her  lord.  He  saw  in  it  the  beginning  of  more 
exertion,  and  strenuous  efforts  after  the  final  recog- 
nition. And  she  carefully  cut  out  all  the  articles  and 
sent  them  to  her  nephew  Nicholas,  to  her  friend  Au- 
relia  Tucker,  and  to  the  editor  of  the  Canaan  City 
Express  with  her  compliments.  And  she  felt  all  the 
more,  in  the  midst  of  this  excitement,  that  if  she  did 
not  have  some  one  to  talk  to  she  must  go  back  to  Step- 
ney Green  and  spend  a  day.     Or  she  would  die. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Campion,  perhaps  in- 
spired by  secret  instructions,  suggested  that  her  lady- 
ship must  be  feeling  a  little  lonely,  and  must  want 
to  see  her  friends.  Why  not,  she  said,  ask  them  to 
dinner ''' 

A  dinner-party,  Lady  Davenant  reflected,  would 
serve  not  only  to  show  her  old  friends  the  reality  of  her 
position,  but  would  also  please  them  as  a  mark  of  kindly 
remembrance.  Only,  she  reflected,  dinner  at  Stepney 
Green  had  not  the  same  meaning  that  it  possesses  at 
the  West  End.  The  best  dinner  in  that  locality  is  that 
which  is  most  plentiful,  and  there  are  no  attempts  made 
to  decorate  a  table.  Another  thing,  dinner  is  taken 
universally  between  one  o'clock  and  two.  "  I  think, 
Clara  Martha,"  said  his  lordship,  whom  she  consulted 
in  this  affair  of  state,  "that  at  any  time  of  day  such  a 
Feast  of  Belshazzar  as  you  will  give  them  will  be  grate- 
ful ;  and  they  vcvaj  call  it  dinner  or  supper,  which  ever 
they  please." 

Thereupon  Lady  Davenant  wrote  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Bornicilack  inviting  the  whole  part}'.  She  explained 
that  they  had  met  with  the  most  splendid  hospitality 
from  Miss  Messenger,  in  whose  house  they  were  still 
staying;  that  they  had  become  public  characters,  and 
had  been  the  subject  of  discussion  in  the  papers,  which 
caused  them  to  be  much  stared  at  and  followed  in  the 
streets,  and  in  theatres  and  concert-rooms;  that  they 
were  both  convinced  that  their  case  would  soon  be  tri- 
umphant ;  that  they  frequently  talked  over  old  friends 


406  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

of  Stepney,  and  regretted  that  the  distance  between 
tlieni  was  so  great — tbougli  distance,  she  added  kindly, 
cannot  divide  hearts;  and  that,  if  Mrs.  Bormalack's 
party  would  come  over  together  and  dine  with  them, 
it  would  be  taken  as  a  great  kindness,  both  by  herself 
and  by  his  lordship.  Siio  added  that  she  hoped  they 
would  all  come,  including  Mr.  Fagg  and  old  Mr.  Mal- 
iphant  and  Mr.  Josephus,  "though,"  she  added  with  a 
little  natural  touch,  "  I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Maliphant 
ever  gave  me  a  thought;  and  Mr.  Josephus  was  always 
too  much  occupied  with  his  own  misfortunes  to  mind 
any  business  of  mine.  And,  dear  Mrs.  Bormalack, 
please  remember  that  when  we  speak  of  dinner  we  mean 
what  you  call  supper.  It  is  exactly  the  same  thing, 
only  served  a  little  earlier.  We  take  ours  at  eight 
o'clock  instead  of  nine.  His  lordship  desires  me  to  add 
that  he  shall  be  extremely  disappointed  if  Mr.  Goslett 
does  not  come;  and  you  will  tell  Miss  Kennedj^,  whose 
kindness  I  can  never  forget,  the  same  from  me,  and 
that  she  must  bring  Nelly  and  Rebekah  and  Captain 
Sorensen." 

The  letter  was  received  with  great  admiration.  Jo- 
sephus, who  had  blossomed  into  a  complete  new  suit  of 
clothes  of  juvenile  cut,  declared  that  the  invitation  did 
her  ladyship  great  credit,  and  that  now  his  misfortunes 
were  finished  he  should  be  rejoiced  to  take  his  place 
in  society.  Harry  laughed,  and  said  that  of  course  he 
would  go.     ''And  you.  Miss  Kennedy?" 

Angela  colored.  Then  she  said  that  she  would  try 
to  go. 

"  And  if  Mr.  Maliphant  and  Daniel  only  go  too,"  said 
Harry,  "  we  shall  be  as  delightful  a  party  as  were  ever 
gathered  together  at  one  dinner-table." 

It  happened  that  about  this  time  Lord  Jocelj'n  re- 
membered the  American  claimants,  and  his  promise  to 
call  upon  them.  He  therefore  called,  and  was  received 
with  the  greatest  cordiality  by  her  little  ladj^ship,  and 
with  T^'ondrous  affability,  as  becomes  one  man  of  rank 
toward  another,  by  Lord  Davanant. 

It  was  her  ladyship  who  volubly  explained  their 
claim  to  him,  and  the  certainty  of  the  assumption  that 
their  Timothy  Clitheroe  was  the  lost  heir  to  the  same 
two  Christian  names ;  her  husband  only  folded  his  fat 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  407 

hands  over  each  other,  and  from  time  to  time  wagged 
his  head. 

''You  are  the  first  of  my  husband's  brother  peers," 
she  said,  "who  has  called  upon  us.  We  shall  not  for- 
get this  kindness  from  your  lordship. " 

"But  I  am  not  a  peer  at  all,"  he  explained;  "lam 
only  a  younger  son  with  a  courtesy  title.  I  am  quite  a 
small  personage." 

"Which  makes  it  all  the  kinder,"  said  her  ladyship; 
"  and  I  must  say  that,  grand  as  it  is,  in  this  big  house, 
one  does  get  tired  of  hearin'  no  voice  but  your  own — • 
and  my  husband  spends  a  good  deal  of  his  time  in  the 
study.  Oh !  a  man  of  great  literary  attainments,  and 
a  splendid  mathematician.  I  assure  your  lordship  not 
a  man  or  a  boy  in  Canaan  City  can  come  near  him  in 
algebra." 

"  Up  to  a  certain  point,  Clara  Martha,"  said  her  hus- 
band, meaning  that  there  might  be  lofty  heights  in 
science  to  which  even  he  himself  could  no^  soar. 
"Quadratic  equations,  my  lord." 

Lord  Jocelyn  made  an  original  remark  about  the  im- 
portance of  scientific  pursuits. 

"  And  since  you  are  so  friendh^"  continued  her  lady- 
ship, "  I  will  venture  to  invite  your  lordship  to  dine 
with  us." 

" Certainly.     I  shall  be  greatly  pleased." 

"  We  have  got  a  few  friends  coming  to-morrow  even- 
ing, "  said  her  ladyship,  rather  grandly.  "  Friends  from 
Whitechapel." 

Lord  Jocelyn  looked  curious. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Josephus  Coppin  and  his  cousin  Mr.  Gos- 
lett,  a  sprightly  young  man  who  respects  rank." 

"  He  is  coming,  is  he?"  asked  Lord  Jocel3'n,  laughing. 

"  And  then  there  is  Miss  Kennedy " 

"She  is  coming  too?"  He  rose  with  alacrity.  "Lady 
Davenant,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  come,  I  assure  j'ou." 

It  was  most  unfortunate  that  next  day  Miss  Kennedy 
had  such  a  dreadful  headache,  that  she  founds  herself 
prevented  from  going  with  the  rest.  This  was  a  great 
disappointment,  and  at  the  last  moment  old  Mr.  Malir 
pliant  could  not  be  found,  and  they  had  to  start  without 
him. 

-How  they  performed  the  journey,  how  Harry  man- 


408  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIOXS  OF  31  EN. 

aged  to  let  most  of  the  party  go  on  before,  because  of 
his  foohsh  pride,  which  would  not  let  him  form  one  of 
a  flock  all  going  out  together,  and  how  he  with  Captain 
Sorensen  and  Nelly  came  on  after  the  rest,  may  be 
passed  over. 

When  he  got  to  Portman  Square,  he  found  the  first 
detachment  already  'arrived,  and,  to  his  boundless 
astonishment,  his  guardian.  Lady  Davenant,  arrayed 
in  her  black  velvet  and  the  jewels  wdiich  Angela  gave 
her,  looked  truly  magnificent.  Was  it  possible,  Mrs. 
Bormalack  thought,  that  such  a  transformation  could 
be  effected  in  a  woman  by  a  velvet  gown?  She  even 
looked  tall.  She  received  her  friends  with  unaffected 
kindness,  and  introduced  them  all  to  Lord  Jocelyn. 

"  Mrs.  Bormalack,  your  lordship,  my  former  land- 
lady, and  always  my  very  good  friend.  Professor 
Climo,  your  lordship,  the  famous  conjurer.  And  I'm 
sure  the  way  he  makes  things  disappear  makes  you 
believe  in  magic.  Mr.  Fagg,  the  great  scholar;  of 
whom,  perhaps,  your  lordship  lias  heard.  Mr.  Josephus 
Coppin,  who  has  been  unfortunate."  Lord  Jocelyn 
w^ondered  what  that  meant.  "  Miss  Rebekah  Hermitage, 
whose  father  is  minister  of  the  Seventh  Day  Indepen- 
dents, and  a  most  respectable  connection,  though  small 
in  number.  Captain  Sorensen,  your  lordship,  who  comes 
from  the  Trinity  Almshouse,  and  Nellie  his  daughter; 
and  Mr.  Goslett.  And  I  think  that  is  all;  and  the 
sooner  they  let  us  have  dinner  the  better. '' 

Lord  Jocelyn  shook  hands  with  everybody.  When 
it  came  to  Harry,  ho  laughed,  and  they  both  laughed, 
but  they  did  not  say  why. 

"And  where  is  Miss  Kennedy?"  asked  her  ladyship. 
And  there  were  great  lamentations.  "  I  wanted  your 
lordship  to  see  Miss  Kennedy.  Oh,  there's  nobody  like 
Miss  Kennedy — is  there,  Nelly?" 

" Nobody, "  said  Nelly.  "There  can  be  nobody  like 
Miss  Kenned5^"  liOrd  Joceh'n  w-as  struck  wnth  the 
beauty  of  this  girl,  whom  he  remembered  seeing  at  the 
dressmakery.  He  began  to  hope  that  she  would  sit 
next  to  him  at  dinner. 

"  Nobody  half  so  beautiful  in  all  Stepney,  is  there?" 

"Nobody  half  so  good,"  said  Rebekah. 

Then   the  dinner  was  announced,  and  there  was  con- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOys  OF  3IEX.  409 

fusion  in  going  down,  because  nobody  would  go  before 
Lord  Jocelyn,  who,  therefore,  had  to  lead  the  way. 
Lord  Davenant  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Bormalack, 
Harry  to  Nelly,  and  Captain  Sorensen  to  Rebekah. 
The  professor,  Mr.  Fagg,  and  Josephus  came  last. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Bormalack,  looking  about 
her,  thankful  that  she  had  put  on  her  best  cap,  "'  mag- 
nificence was  expected,  as  was  your  lordship's  due,  but 
such  as  this — no,  young  man,  I  never  take  soup  unless 
I've  made  it  mj^self,  and  am  quite  sure — such  as  this, 
my  lord,  we  did  not  expect." 

She  was  splendid  in  her  beautiful  best  cap,  all  rib- 
bons and  bows,  with  an  artificial  dahlia  in  it  of  a  far- 
off  fashion — say,  the  forties;  the  sight  of  the  table, 
with  its  plate  and  flowers  and  fruit,  filled  her  with  ad- 
miration, but,  as  she  now  says  in  recalling  that  stu- 
pendous feed,  there  was  too  much  ornament,  which 
kept  her  mind  off  the  cooking,  so  that  she  really  car- 
ried away  no  new  ideas  for  Stepney  use.  Nelly  did  sit 
next  to  Lord  Jocelyn,  who  talked  with  her,  and  found 
that  she  was  shy  until  he  touched  upon  Miss  Kennedy. 
Then  she  waxed  eloquent,  and  told  him  marvels,  for- 
getting that  he  was  a  stranger  who  probably  knew  and 
cared  nothing  about  Miss  Kennedy.  But  Nelly  be- 
longed to  that  very  numerous  class  which  believes  its 
own  affairs  of  the  highest  interest  to  the  world  at" 
large,  and  in  this  instance  Miss  Kennedy  was  a  subject 
of  the  deepest  interest  to  her  neighbors.  Wherefore  he 
listened  while  she  told  what  had  been  done  for  the 
workgirls  by  one  woman,  one  of  themselves. 

Opposite,  on  Lady  Davenant's  left,  sat  Captain  Sor- 
ensen. In  the  old  days  the  captains  of  East  Indiamen 
were  not  unacquainted  with  great  men's  tables,  but 
it  was  long  since  he  had  sat  at  such  a  feast.  Presently 
Lord  JoCel3'n  began  to  look  at  him  curiousl3^ 

"Who  is  the  old  gentleman  opposite?"  he  whispered 
to  Nelly. 

"  That  is  my  father;  he  was  a  captain  once,  and  com- 
manded a  great  ship." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn.  "I  remember 
him,  but  he  has  forgotten  me." 

Next  to  the  captain  sat  Rebekah,  looking  prepared  for 
any  fate,  and  not  unduly  uplifted  by  the  splendor  of 


410  ALL  SORTS  AND  ('OyDrriOXS  OF  MEX. 

the  scene.  But  for  her,  as  well  as  for  nearly  all  who 
were  present,  the  word  dinner  will  henceforth  have 
a  new  and  exalted  meaning.  The  length  of  the  feast, 
the  number  of  things  olfered,  the  appointments  of  the 
table,  struck  her  imagination ;  she  thought  of  Belshazzar 
and  of  Herod ;  such  as  the  feast  before  her  were  those 
feasts  of  old;  she  tasted  the  champagne,  and  it  took 
away  her  breath;  j-et  it  seemed  good.  Mr.  Goslett 
seemed  to  think  so  too,  because  he  drank  so  many 
glasses. 

So  did  the  others,  and,  being  inexperienced  in  wine, 
they  drank  with  more  valor  than  discretion,  so  that 
the}'  began  to  talk  loud,  but  that  was  not  till  later. 

"Do  people — rich  people — always  dine  like  this?" 
asked  Nelh'  of  her  neighbor. 

"  Something  like  this ;  yes,  that  is,  some  such  dinner, 
though  simpler,  is  always  prepared  for  them." 

"I  Avas  thinking,"  she  said,  "how  differently  people 
live.  I  would  rather  live  in  our  way — with  Miss  Ken- 
nedy— than  in  so  much  grandeur." 

"  Grandeur  soon  becomes  a  matter  of  habit.  But  as 
for  ]\Iiss  Keimedy,  you  cannot  live  always  with  her, 
can  3'ou?" 

"  Why  not?" 

"Weil,  she  may  marry,  you  know." 

Nelly  looked  across  the  table  at  Harry. 

"  I  suppose  she  will;  we  all  of  us  hope  she  will,  if  it 
is  to  stay  with  us ;  but  that  need  not  take  her  away 
from  us." 

"  Do  you  know  Miss  Messenger?" 

"No,"  said  Nelly;  "she  has  been  very  kind  to  us; 
she  is  our  best  customer,  she  sends  us  all  sorts  of  kind 
messages,  and  presents  even ;  and  she  sends  us  her  love 
and  best  wishes;  I  think  she  must  be  very  fond  of 
Miss  Kennedy.  She  promises  to  come  some  day  and 
visit  us.  Whenever  I  think  of  Miss  Messenger,  I 
think,  somehow,  that  she  must  be  like  Miss  Kennedy ; 
only  I  cannot  understand  Miss  Kennedy  being  rich  and 
the  OA\Tier  of  this  great  house." 

When  the  ladies  retired,  at  length,  it  became  mani- 
fest that  Josephus  had  taken  more  wine  than  was  good 
for  him.  He  laughed  loudly;  he  told  everybody  that 
he  was  going  to  begin  all  over  again,  classes  and  lect- 


ALL  SOBTS  AND  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  411 

ures  and  everything,  including  the  Sunday-school  and 
the  church  membership.  The  professor,  who,  for  his 
part,  seemed  indisposed  for  conversation,  retained  the 
master}''  over  his  fingers,  and  began  to  prepare  little 
tricks,  and  presently  conveyed  oranges  into'Lord  Dave- 
nant's  coat-tails  without  moving  from  his  chair.  And 
Daniel  Fagg,  whose  cheek  was  flushed,  and  whose 
eyes  were  sparkling,  rose  from  his  chair,  and  attacked 
Lord  Jocelyn,  note-book  in  hand. 

"  Is  your  lo'ship,"  he  began,  with  a  perceptible  thick- 
ness of  speech — Lord  Jocelyn  recognized  him  as  the 
man  whom  he  had  accosted  at  Stepney  Green,  and  who 
subsequently  took  dinner  with  the  girls — "is  your 
lo'ship  int'rested  in  Hebrew  schriptions?" 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  politely. 

"  'Low  me  to  put  your  lo'ship's  name  down  for  schrip- 
tion,  twelve-and-six?  Book  will  come  out  next  month, 
Miss  Ken'dy  says  so." 

"Put  up  your  book,  Daniel,"  said  Harry  sternly, 
"and  sit  down." 

"  I  want — show — his  lo'ship — a  Hebrew  schription." 

He  sat  down,  however,  obediently,  and  immediately 
fell  fast  asleep. 

Said  Lord  Jocelyn  to  Captain  Sorensen : 

"  I  remember  you,  captain,  very  well  indeed,  but  you 
have  forgotten  me.  Were  you  not  in  command  of  the 
Sussex  in  the  year  of  the  Mutiny?  Did  you  not  take 
me  out  with  the  120th?" 

"  To  be  sure — to  be  sure  I  did ;  and  I  remember  5"our 
lordship  very  well,  and  am  very  glad  to  find  3'ou  re- 
member me.     You  were  younger  then." 

"I  was;  and  how  goes  it  with  you  now,  captain? 
Cheerfully  as  of  old?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  my  lord.  I'm  in  the  Trinity  Almshouse, 
and  my  daughter  is  with  Miss  Kennedy,  bless  her! 
Therefore  I've  nothing  to  complain  of." 

"May  I  call  upon  you,  some  day,  to  talk  over  old 
t"imes?  You  used  to  sing  a  good  song  in  those  days, 
and  play  a  good  tune,  and  dance  a  good  dance. " 

"Come,  my  lord,  as  often  as  5-ou  like,"  he  replied  in 
great  good-humor.  "The  cabin  is  small,  but  it's  cozy, 
and  the  place  is  hard  to  get  at." 

"It  is  the  queerest  dinner  I  ever  had,  Harry,"  Lord 


412  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Jocelyn  whispered.  "I  like  our  old  captain  and  his 
daughter.  Is  the  hard-hearted  dressmaker  prettier  than 
Nellie?" 

"Prettier!  why,  there  is  no  comparison  possible." 

"Yet  NeWy  hath  a  pleasing  manner." 

"  Miss  Kennedy  turns  all  her  girls  into  ladies.  Come 
and  see  her." 

"  Perhaps,  Harry,  perhaps ;  when  she  is  no  longer 
hard-hearted;  when  she  has  named  the  happy  day." 

"This  evening,"  said  Lady  Davenant,  when  they 
joined  her,  "  will  be  one  that  I  never  can  forget.  For 
I've  had  my  old  friends  round  me,  who  were  kind  in 
our  poverty  and  neglect;  and  now  I've  your  lordship, 
too,  Avho  belongs  to  the  new  time.  So  that  that  it  is  a 
joining  together,  as  it  were,  and  one  don't  feel  like  step- 
ping out  of  our  place  into  another  quite  different,  as  I 
shall  tell  Aurelia,  who  says  she  is  afraid  that  splendor 
may  make  me  forget  old  friends ;  whereas  there  is  no- 
body I  should  like  to  have  with  us  this  moment  better 
than  Aurelia.  But  perhaps  she  judges  others  by  her- 
self." 

"  Lor  !*'  cried  ]\Irs.  Bormalack,  "  to  hear  3'our  lady- 
ship go  on !     It's  like  an  angel  of  goodness." 

"  And  the  only  thing  that  vexes  me — it's  enough  to 
spoil  it  all — is  that  Miss  Kennedy  couldn't  come.  Ah ! 
my  lord,  if  you  had  only  seen  Miss  Kennedy!  Re- 
bekali  and  Nellj^  are  two  good  girls  and  prett}'^,  but 
you  are  not  to  compare  with  Miss  Kennedy — are  3'ou, 
dears'?" 

They  both  shook  their  heads,  and  were  not  offended. 

It  was  past  eleven  when  they  left  to  go  home  in  cabs ; 
one  contained  the  sleeping  forms  of  Joseph  us  and  Mr. 
Fagg ;  the  next  contained  Captain  Sorensen  and  Nelly, 
with  Harry.  The  Professor,  who  had  yjartly  revived, 
came  with  Mrs.  Bormalack  and  Rebekah  in  the  last. 

"You  seemed  to  know  Lord  Jocelyn,  Mr.  Goslett," 
said  the  captain. 

"  I  ought  to, "  replied  Harry  simply ;  "  he  gave  me 
my  education." 

"  He  was  always  a  brave  and  generous  officer,  I  re- 
member," the  captain M-ent  on.  "  Yes,  I  remember  him 
well;  all  the  men  would  have  followed  him  everywhere. 
Well,  he  says  he  will  come  and  see  me." 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  413 

"Then  he  will  come,"  said  Harrj-,  "if  he  said  so." 
"  Very  good ;  if  he  comes,  he  shall  see  Miss  Kennedy 
too, " 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE    END    OF    THE    CASE. 

This  dinner,  to  which  her  ladyship  will  always  look 
back  with  the  liveliest  satisfaction,  was  the  climax,  the 
highest  point,  so  to  speak,  of  her  greatness,  which  was 
destined  to  have  a  speedy  fall.  Angela  asked  Lord 
Joceljm  to  read  through  the  papers  and  advise.  She 
told  him  of  the  professor's  discovery,  and  of  the  book 
which  had  belonged  to  the  wheelwright,  and  every- 
thing. Of  course  the  opinion  which  he  formed  was 
exaclly  that  formed  by  Angela  herself,  and  he  told  her 
so. 

"  I  have  asked  them  to  my  house,"  Angela  wrote,  "  be- 
cause I  want  them  to  go  home  to  their  oVn  people  with 
pleasant  recollections  of  their  stay  in  London,  I  should 
like  them  to  feel,  not  that  their  claim  had  broken  down, 
and  that  they  were  defeated,  but  that  it  had  been  ex- 
amined, and  was  held  to  be  not  proven.  I  should  be 
very  sorry  if  I  thought  that  the  little  lady  would  cease 
to  believe  in  her  husband's  illustrious  descent.  Will 
you  help  me  to  make  her  keep  her  faith  as  far  as 
possible  and  go  home  with  as  little  disappointment  as 
possible?" 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn. 

He  wrote  to  Lady  Davenant  that  he  had  given  care- 
ful consideration  to  the  Case,  and  had  taken  opinions, 
which  was  also  true,  because  he  made  a  lawyer,  a  her- 
ald, and  a  peer  all  read  the  documents,  and  write  him 
a  letter  on  the  subject.  He  dictated  all  three  letters, 
it  is  true;  but  there  is  generally  something  to  conceal 
in  this  world  of  compromises. 

He  went  solemnl}-  to  Portman  Square  bearing  these 
precious  documents  with  him.  To  Lady  Davenant  his 
opinion  was  the  most  important  step  which  had  yet 
occurred  in  the  history  of  the  claim;  she  placed  her 
husband  in  the  hardest  arm-chair  that  she  could  find, 


414  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

with  strict  injunctions  to  keep  broad  awake;  and  she 
had  a  great  array  of  pens  and  paper  laid  out  on  tlie 
tabe  in  order  to  look  business-like.  It  must  be  owned 
that  tlie  good  feeling  of  the  last  two  months,  with  car- 
riage exercise,  had  greatly  increased  his  lordship's  ten- 
dency to  sleep  and  inaction.  As  for  the  Case,  he  had 
almost  ceased  to  think  of  it.  The  Case  meant  worry, 
coi>ying  out,  writing  and  re-writing,  hunting  up  facts, 
and  remembering;  when  the  Case  was  put  away  he 
could  give  up  his  mind  to  breakfast,  lunch,  and  dimior. 
Never  had  the  present  moment  seemed  so  delightful  to 
him. 

Lord  Jocleyn  wore  an  expression  of  great  gravity, 
as  befitted  the  occasion.  In  fact,  he  was  intrusted  with 
an  exceedingly  delicate  mission;  he  had  to  tell  these 
v/orthy  peo})le  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  hope  for 
them ;  to  recommend  them  to  go  home  again ;  and, 
though  the  counsel  would  be  clothed  in  sugared  words, 
to  renounce  forever  the  hope  of  proving  their  imaginary 
claim.  But  it  is  better  to  be  told  these  things  kindly 
and  sympathetically,  by  a  man  with  a  title,  than  by 
any  coarse  or  common  lawyer. 

"Before  I  begin'' — Lord  Jocelyn  addressed  himself 
to  the  lady  instead  of  her  husband — "  I  would  ask  if 
you  have  any  relic  at  all  of  that  first  Timothy  Clitheroe 
who  is  buried  in  your  cemetery  at  Canaan  City?" 

"  There  is  a  book,"  said  her  ladyship.     "  Here  it  is." 

She  handed  him  a  little  book  of  songs,  roughly  bound 
in  leather;  on  the  title-page  was  written  at  the  top 
"Satturday,"  and  at  the  bottom  "Davvenant." 

Lord  Jocelyn  laid  the  book  down  and  opened  his  case. 

First,  he  reminded  them  that  Miss  Messenger  in  her 
first  letter  had  spoken  of  a  possible  moral,  rather  than 
legal,  triumph;  of  a  possible  failure  to  establish  the 
claim  before  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Peers  to  whom 
it  would  be  referred.  This,  in  his  opinion,  was  the 
actual  difficulty ;  he  had  read  the  Case,  as  it  had  been 
carefully  drawn  up  and  presented  by  his  lordship — and 
he  complimented  the  writer  upon  his  lucid  and  excellent 
style  of  drawing  up  of  facts — and  he  had  submitted  the 
Case  for  the  opinion  of  friends  of  his  own,  all  of  them 
gentlemen  eminently  projier  \o  form  and  to  express  an 
opinion  on  such  a  subject.     He  held  the  opinions  of 


ALL  SORTS  A^'D  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  415 

these  gentlemen  in  his  hands.  One  of  them  was  from 
Lord  de  Lusignan,  a  nobleman  of  very  ancient  descent. 
His  lordship  wrote  that  there  were  very  strong  grounds 
for  supposing  it  right  to  investigate  a  case  which  pre- 
sented, certainl}',  very  remarkable  coincidences,  if  noth- 
ing more;  that  further  investigations  ought  to  be  made 
on  the  spot ;  and  that,  if  this  Timothy  Clitheroe  Dave- 
nant  turned  out  to  be  the  lost  heir,  it  would  be  another 
romance  in  the  history  of  the  Peerage.  And  his  lord- 
ship concluded  by  a  kind  expression  of  hope  that  more 
facts  would  be  discovered  in  support  of  the  claim. 

"  You  will  like  to  keep  this  letter, "  said  tlie  reader, 
giving  it  to  Lady  Davenant.  She  was  horribly  pale  and 
trembled,  because  it  seemed  as  if  everything  was  slip- 
ping from  her. 

"  The  other  letters, "  Lord  Jocelyn  went  on,  "  are  to  the 
same  effect.  One  is  from  a  lawj'er  of  great  eminence, 
and  the  other  is  from  a  herald.  You  will  probably  like 
to  keep  them,  too,  when  I  have  read  them." 

Lady  Davenant  took  the  letters,  which  were  cruel  in 
their  kindness,  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

Lord  Jocelyn  went  on  to  say  that  researches  made  in 
their  interest  in  the  parish  registers  had  resulted  in  a 
discovery  which  might  even  be  made  into  an  argument 
against  the  claim.  There  was  a  foundling  child  bap- 
tized in  the  church  in  tlie  same  year  as  the  young  heir ; 
he  received  the  name  of  the  village,  with  the  day  of  the 
week  on  which  he  was  found  for  Christian  name ;  that 
is  to  say,  he  was  called  Saturday  Davenant. 

Then,  indeed,  his  lordship  became  very  red,  and  her 
ladj^ship  turned  still  paler,  and  both  looked  guilty. 
Saturday  Davenant !  the  words  in  the  book.  Suppose 
they  were  not  a  date  and  a  name,  but  a  man's  whole 
name  instead ! 

"He  left  the  parish,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  "and  was 
reported  to  have  gone  to  America." 

Neither  of  them  spoke.  His  lordshij)  looked  slowly 
around  the  room,  as  if  expecting  that  everj'thing,  even 
the  solid  mahogany  ot  the  librar}-  shelves,  would  van- 
ish suddenly  away.  And  he  groaned,  thinking  of  the 
dinners  which  would  soon  be  things  of  the  golden  past. 

"But,  my  friends,"  Lord  Jocelyn  went  on,  "do  not 
be   downcast.     There  is   always  a  possibility  of   new 


41G  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

facts  turning  up.  Your  grandfather's  name  may  have 
been  really  Timothy  Clitheroe,  in  which  case  I  have 
very  little  doubt  that  he  was  the  missing  heir ;  but  he 
may,  on  the  other  hand,  have  been  the  Saturday  Dave- 
nan  t,  in  which  case  he  lived  and  died  with  a  lie  on  hiy 
lijjs,  which  one  would  be  sorry  to  think  possible. " 

"  Well,  sir — if  that  is  so — what  do  you  advise  that  we 
should  do  now?"  asked  the  grandson  of  this  mystery. 
He  seemed  to  have  become  an  American  citizen  again, 
and  to  have  shaken  oif  the  aristocratic  manner. 

"  What  I  should  advise  is  this.  You  will  never, 
most  certainly  never  get  recognition  of  your  claim 
without  stronger  evidence  than  you  at  present  offer. 
On  the  other  hand,  no  one  will  refuse  to  admit  that  3'ou 
have  a  strong  case.  Therefore  I  would  advise  you  to 
go  home  to  your  own  people,  to  tell  them  what  has  hap- 
pened— how  your  case  was  taken  up  and  carefully  con- 
sidered by  competent  authorities" — here  he  named 
again  the  lawj^er,  the  herald,  and  the  peer — "  to  show 
them  their  opinions,  and  to  say  that  you  have  come 
back  for  further  evidence,  if  j'ou  can  find  any,  which 
will  connect  3'ou  beyond  a  doubt  with  the  lost  heir." 

"  That  is  gcx)d  advice,  sir,"  said  the  claimant.  "  No, 
Clara  Martha,  for  once  I  will  have  my  own  way.  The 
connection  is  the  weak  point ;  we  must  go  home  and 
make  it  a  strong  point,  else  we  had  better  stay  there. 
I  said,  all  along,  that  we  ought  not  to  have  come. 
Nevertheless,  I'm  glad  we  came,  Clara  Martha.  I 
shan't  throw  it  in  your  teeth  that  we  did  come.  I'm 
grateful  to  you  for  making  us  come.  We've  made  good 
friends  here,  and  seen  many  things  which  we  shouldn't 
otherwise  have  seen.  And  the  thought  of  this  house 
and  the  meals  we've  had  in  it — such  breakfasts,  such 
luncheons,  such  dinners — will  never  leave  us,  I  am 
sure." 

Lady  Davenant  could  say  nothing.  She  saw  every- 
thing torn  from  her  at  a  rough  blow — her  title,  her  con- 
sideration, the  envy  of  her  fellow-citizens,  especially  of 
Aurelia  Tucker.  She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes 
and  sobbed  aloud. 

"You  should  not  go  back  as  if  you  were  defeated," 
Lord  JocehTi  went  on,  in  s^-mpathy  with  the  poor  little 
woman.     "  You  are  as  much  entitled  to  the  rank  you 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  417 

claim  as  ever.  More:  your  case  has  been  talked  about; 
it  is  known;  should  any  of  the  antiquaries  who  are  al- 
ways grubbing  about  parish  records  find  any  scrap  of 
information  which  may  help,  he  will  make  a  note  of  it 
for  you.  When  you  came  you  were  friendless  and  un- 
known. Now  the  press  of  England  has  taken  j'ou  up ; 
3'our  story  is  romantic ;  we  are  all  interested  in  you,  and 
desirous  of  seeing  you  succeed.  Before  you  go  you  will 
write  to  the  papers  stating  why  you  go,  and  what  j^ou 
hope  to  find.  All  these  letters  and  papers  and  proofs  of 
the  importance  of  3'Our  claim  should  be  kept  and  shown 
to  your  friends." 

"  We  feel  mean  about  going  back,  and  that's  a  fact," 
said  his  lordship.  "  Still,  if  we  must  go  back,  why, 
we'd  better  go  back  with  drums  and  trumpets  than 
sneak  back " 

"  Ah !"  said  his  wife,  "  if  you'd  only  shown  that  spirit 
from  the  beginning,  Timothy !" 

He  collapsed. 

"  If  we  go  back, "  she  continued,  thoughtfully,  "  I 
suppose  there's  some  sort  of  work  we  can  find,  between 
us.  Old  folks  hadn't  ought  to  work  like  the  young, 
p.nd  I'm  sixty-five,  and  so  is  my  husband.      But " 

She  stopped,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  am  empowered  by  Miss  Messenger,"  Lord  JocehTi 
vrent  on,  with  great  softness  of  manner,  *'  to  make  you 
a  little  proposition.  She  thinks  that  it  would  be  most 
desirable  for  3'ou  to  have  your  hands  free  while  you 
make  those  researches  which  may  lead  to  the  discover- 
ies we  hope  for.  ISTow,  if  you  have  to  waste  the  day  in 
work  you  will  never  be  able  to  make  saxj  research. 
Therefore  Miss  Messenger  proposes — if  you  do  not  mind 
— if  you  will  accept — an  annuity  on  3'our  joint  lives  of 
six  hundred  dollars.  You  may  be  thus  relieved  of  all 
anxiet}^  about  your  personal  wants.  And  Miss  Mes- 
senger begs  only  that  you  may  let  this  annuity  appear 
the  offering  of  sympathizing  English  friends." 

"  But  we  don't  know  Miss  Messenger,"  said  her  lady- 
ship. 

"  Has  she  not  extended  her  hospitality  to  you  for  two 
months  and  more?  Is  not  that  a  proof  of  the  interest 
she  takes  in  you?" 

"  Certainly  it  is.  Why — see  now — we've  been  living 
27 


418  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

here  so  long,  that  we've  forgotten  it  is  all  Miss  Messen- 
ger's gift." 

"  Then  you  will  accept?" 

"  Oh,  Lord  Jocelyn,  what  can  we  do  but  accept?" 
"And    with    grateful  hearts,"   added  his  lordship, 
"  Tell  her  that.     With  grateful  hearts.     They've  a  way 

of  serving  quail  in  her  house,  that "     He  stopped 

and  sighed. 

The}'  have  returned  to  Canaan  City;  they  live  in 
simple  sufficiency.  His  lordship,  when  he  is  awake, 
has  many  ttdes  to  tell  of  London.  His  friends  believe 
Stepney  Green  to  be  a  pai't  of  Maj'-fair,  and  Mrs.  Bor- 
malack  to  be  a  distinguislied  though  untitled  ornament 
of  London  society ;  while  as  for  Aurelia  Tucker,  who 
fain  woukl  scoff,  tliere  are  her  ladyship's  beautiful  and 
costly  dresses,  and  her  jewels,  and  the  letters  from 
Lord  Jocelj'n  le  Breton  and  the  rich  Miss  Messenger, 
and  the  six  hundred  dollars  a  year  drawn  montldy, 
which  proclaim  aloud  that  there  is  something  in  the 
claim. 

There  are  things  which  cannot  be  gainsaid. 
Nevertheless,  no  new  discoveries  have  yet  rewarded 
his  lordship's  researches. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A    PALACE  OF    DELIGHT. 

During  this  time  the  Palace  of  Delight  was  steadily 
rising.  Before  Christmas  its  walls  were  completed  and 
the  roof  on.  Then  began  the  painting,  the  decorating, 
and  the  fittings.  And  Angela  was  told  that  the  build- 
ing would  be  handed  over  to  her,  complete  according  to 
the  contract,  by  the  first  of  March. 

The  building  was  hidden  away,  so  to  speak,  in  a 
comer  of  vast  Stepney,  but  already  rumors  were  abroad 
concerning  it,  and  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  erected. 
They  were  conflicting  rumors.  No  one  knew  at  all 
what  was  intended  by  it;  no  one  had  been  within  the 
walls ;  no  one  knew  who  built  it.  The  place  was  sit- 
uated so  decidedly  in  the  very  heart  and  core  of  Step- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  419 

ney,  that  the  outside  public  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it, 
and  the  rumors  were  confined  to  the  small  folk  round 
it.  So  it  rose  in  their  midst  without  being  greatly  re- 
garded. No  report  or  mention  of  it  came  to  Harry's 
ears,  so  that  he  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  suspected  noth- 
ing any  more  than  he  suspected  Miss  Kennedy  of  being 
some  other  person. 

The  first  of  March  in  this  present  year  of  grace  1882 
fell  upon  a  Wednesday.  Angela  resolved  that  the  open- 
ing-day should  be  on  Thursday,  the  second,  and  that  she 
would  open  it  herself ;  and  then  another  thought  came 
into  her  mind ;  and  the  longer  she  meditated  ujjon  it, 
the  stronger  hold  did  the  idea  take  upon  her. 

The  Palace  of  Delight  was  not,  she  said,  her  own 
conception ;  it  was  that  of  the  man — the  man  she  loved. 
Would  it  not  be  generous,  in  giving  this  place  over  to 
the  people  for  whom  it  was  built,  to  give  ics  real  founder 
the  one  reward  which  he  asked? 

Never  any  knight  of  old  had  been  more  loj'al.  He 
obeyed  in  the  spirit  as  well  as  the  letter  her  injunction 
not  to  speak  of  love ;  not  only  did  he  refrain  from  those 
good  words  which  he  would  fain  have  uttered,  but  he 
showned  no  impatience,  grumbled  not,  had  no  fits  of 
sulking;  he  waited,  patient.  And  in  all  other  things 
he  did  her  behest,  working  with  a  cheerful  heart  for 
her  girls,  always  ready  to  amuse  them,  always  at  her 
service  for  things  great  and  small,  and  meeting  her 
mood  with  a  ready  sj'mpathy. 

One  evening,  exactly  a  fortnight  before  the  proposed 
opening-day,  Angela  invited  all  the  girls,  and  with 
them  her  faithful  old  captain  and  her  servant  Harry, 
to  follow  her  because  she  had  a  thing  to  show  them. 
She  spoke  with  great  seriousness,  and  looked  overcome 
with  the  gravity  of  this  thing.  What  was  she  going 
to  show  them? 

They  followed,  wondering,  while  she  led  the  way  to 
the  church,  and  then  turned  to  the  right  among  the  nar- 
row lanes  of  a  part  where,  by  some  accident,  none  l1 
the  girls  belonged. 

Presently  she  stopped  before  a  great  building,.  It 
was  not  lit  up,  and  seemed  quite  dark  and  empty.  Out- 
side, the  planks  were  not  yet  removed,  and  they  were 
covered  with  gaudy  advertisements,  but  it  was  too  dark 


420  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

to  see  them.  There  was  a  broad  porch  above  the  en- 
trance, with  a  generously  ample  ascent  of  steps  like 
unto  those  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  Angela  rang  a  bell 
and  the  door  was  opened.  They  found  themselves  in 
an  entrance-hall  of  some  kind,  imperfectly  lighted  by 
a  single  gas-jet.  There  were  three  or  four  men  stand- 
ing about,  apparently  waiting  for  them,  because  one 
stepped  forward,  and  said : 

"  Miss  Messenger's  party?" 

"  We  are  Miss  Messenger's  party,"  Angela  replied. 

"Whoever  we  are,"  said  Harry,  "we  are  a  great 
mystery  to  ourselves." 

"  Patience,"  Angela  whispered;  "part  of  the  mystery 
is  going  to  be  cleared  up." 

'■  Light  up.  Bill,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

Then  the  whole  place  passed  suddenl}^  into  daylight, 
for  it  was  lit  by  the  electric  globes.  It  was  a  lofty 
vestibule.  On  either  side  were  cloak-rooms;  opposite 
were  entrance-doors.  But  what  was  on  the  other  side 
of  these  entrance-rooms  none  of  them  could  guess. 

"My  friend,"  said  Angela  to  Harr}^,  "this  place 
should  be  yours.     It  is  of  your  creation." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  It  is  your  Palace  of  Delight.  Yes ;  nothing  short 
of  that.     Will  you  lead  n.e  into  your  palace?" 

She  took  his  arm  while  he  marvelled  greatl}^  and  asked 
himself  what  this  might  mean.  One  of  the  men  then 
opened  the  doors,  and  they  entered,  followed  by  the 
wondering  girls. 

The}^  found  themselves  in  a  lofty  and  very  spacious 
hall.  At  the  end  was  a  kind  of  throne — a  red  velvet 
divan,  semicircular  under  a  canopy  of  red  velvet.  Stat- 
ues stood  on  either  side ;  behind  them  was  a  great  organ ; 
upon  the  walls  were  pictures.  Above  the  pictures  were 
trophies  in  arms ;  tapestry  carpets — all  kinds  of  beauti- 
ful things.  Above  the  entrance  was  a  gallery  for  mu- 
sicians; and  on  either  side  were  doors  leading  to  places 
of  which  i\\Qj  knew  nothing. 

Miss  Kennedy  led  the  way  to  the  semicircular  divan 
at  the  end.  She  took  the  central  place,  and  motioned 
the  girls  to  arrange  themselves  about  her.  The  effect 
of  this  little  group  sitting  by  themselves  and  in  silence, 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  421 

at  the  end  of  the  great  hall,  was  very  strange  and 
wonderful. 

"  My  dears,"  she  said,  after  a  moment — and  the  girls 
saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears — "  my  dears,  I  have 
got  a  wonderful  story  to  tell  you.     Listen. 

"  There  was  a  girl,  once,  who  had  the  great  misfor- 
tune to  be  born  rich.  It  is  a  thing  which  many  people 
desire.  She,  however,  who  had  it  knew  what  a  misfor- 
tune it  might  become  to  her.  For  the  possessor  of 
great  wealth,  more  especially  if  it  be  a  woman,  attracts 
all  the  designing  and  wicked  people  in  the  world,  all 
the  rogues  and  all  the  pretended  philanthropists  to  her, 
as  wasps  are  attracted  by  honey ;  and  presently,  by  sad 
experience,  she  gets  to  look  on  all  mankind  as  desirous 
only  of  robbing  and  deceiving  her.  This  is  a  dreadful 
condition  of  mind,  to  fall  into,  because  it  stands  in  the 
way  of  love  and  friendship  and  trust,  and  all  the  sweet 
confidences  which  make  us  happy. 

"  This  girl's  name  Avas  Messenger.  Now,  when  she 
was  quite  young  she  knew  what  was  going  to  happen, 
unless  she  managed  somehow  differently  from  other 
women  in  her  unhappy  position.  And  she  determined 
as  a  first  step  to  get  rid  of  a  large  quantity  of  her  wealth, 
so  that  the  cupidity  of  the  robbers  might  be  diverted. 

"  Now,  she  had  a  humble  friend — only  a  dressmaker, 
— who,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  loved  her  and  would  have 
served  her  if  she  could.  And  this  dressmaker  came 
to  live  at  the  East  End  of  London. 

"  And  she  saw  that  the  girls  who  have  to  work  for 
their  bread  are  treated  in  sucli  a  way  that  slavery 
would  be  a  better  lot  for  most  of  them.  For  they  have 
to  work  twelve  hours  in  the  day,  and  sometimes  more; 
they  sit  in  close,  hot  rooms,  poisoned  by  gas ;  they  get 
no  change  of  position  as  the  day  goes  on ;  they  have  no 
holiday,  no  respite,  save  on  Sunday ;  they  draw  miser- 
able wages,  and  they  are  indifferentlj^  fed.  So  that  she 
thought  one  good-  thing  Miss  Messenger  could  do  was 
to  help  those  girls,  and  this  was  how  our  Association 
was  founded." 

"  But  we  shall  thank  you,  all  the  same,"  said  Nelly. 

"  Then  another  thing  happened.  There  was  a  j'oung 
— gentleman,"  Angela  went  on,  "staying  at  the  East 
End  too.    He  called  himself  a  working-man,  said  he  was 


422  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

the  son  of  a  sergeant  i.  the  army,  but  everybody  knew 
he  was  a  gentleman.  This  dressmaker  made  his  ac- 
({uaintance,  and  talked  with  him  a  great  deal.  He  was 
full  of  ideas,  and  one  day  he  proposed  that  we  should 
have  a  Palace  of  Delight.  It  would  cost  a  great  deal 
of  money ;  but  they  talked  as  if  thej^  had  that  sum,  and 
more,  at  their  disposal.  They  arranged  it  all;  they 
provided  for  everj^thing.  When  the  scheme  was  fully 
drawn  up,  the  dressmaker  took  it  to  Miss  Messenger. 
O  my  dear  girls!  this  is  the  Palace  of  Delight.  It 
is  built  as  they  proposed ;  it  is  finished ;  it  is  our  own ; 
and  here  is  its  inventor." 

She  took  Harry's  hand.  He  stood  beside  her,  gaz- 
ing upon  her  impassioned  face;  but  he  was  silent.  "  It 
looks  cold  and  empty  now,  but  when  you  see  it  on  the 
opening  day;  when  you  come  here  night  after  night; 
when  you  get  to  feel  the  place  to  be  a  part,  and  the  best 
part,  of  your  life,  then  remember  that  what  Miss  Mes- 
senger did  was  nothing  compared  with  what  this — this 
young  gentleman  did.     For  he  invented  it." 

"Now,"  she  said,  rising — they  were  all  too  much 
astonished  to  make  any  demonstration — "  now  let  us 
examine  the  building.  This  hall  is  your  great  reception- 
room.  You  will  use  it  for  the  ball  nights,  when  you 
give  your  great  dances ;  a  thousand  couples  may  dance 
here  without  crowding.  On  wet  days  it  is  to  be  the 
playground  of  the  children.  It  will  hold  a  couple  of 
thousand,  without  jostling  against  each  other.  There 
is  the  gallery  for  the  music,  as  soon  as  you  have  got 
any." 

She  led  the  way  to  a  door  on  the  right. 

"This,"  she  said,  "is  your  theatre." 

It  was  like  a  Roman  theatre,  being  built  in  the  form 
of  a  semicircle,  tier  above  tier,  having  no  distinction  in 
places,  save  that  some  were  nearer  the  stage  and  some 
further  off. 

"Here,"  she  said,  "you  will  act.  Do  not  think  that 
players  will  be  found  for  you.  If  you  want  a  theatre 
you  must  find  your  own  actors.  If  you  want  an  or- 
chestra you  must  find  your  own  for  your  theatre,  be- 
cause in  this  place  everything  will  be  done  by  your- 
selves." 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  423 

They  came  out  of  the  theatre.  There  was  one  other 
door  on  that  side  of  the  hall. 

"This,"  said  Angela,  opening  it,  "is  the  concert- 
room.  It  has  an  organ  and  a  piano  and  a  platform. 
When  you  have  got  people  who  can  play  and  sing,  you 
will  give  concerts." 

They  crossed  the  hall.  On  the  other  side  were  two 
more  great  rooms,  each  as  big  as  the  theatre  and  the 
concert-room.  One  was  a  gymnasimn,  fitted  up  with 
bars  and  ropes,  and  parallel  rods  and  trapezes. 

"This  is  for  the  young  men,"  said  Angela.  "They 
will  be  stimulated  b}^  prizes  to  become  good  gymnasts. 
The  other  room  is  the  library.  Here  they  may  come, 
when  they  please,  to  read  and  study." 

It  was  a  noble  room,  fitted  with  shelves  and  the  be- 
ginning of  a  great  library. 

"  Let  us  go  upstairs,"  said  Angela. 

Upstairs  the  rooms  were  all  small,  but  there  were  a 
great  many  of  them. 

Thus  there  were  billiard-rooms,  card-rooms,  rooms 
with  chess,  domiuos,  and  backgammon-tables  laid  out, 
smoking-rooms  for  men  alone,  tea  and  coffee  rooms, 
rooms  where  women  could  sit  by  themselves  if  they 
pleased,  and  a  room  where  all  kinds  of  refreshments 
were  to  be  procured.  Above  these  was  a  second  floor, 
which  was  called  the  School.  This  consisted  of  a  great 
number  of  quite  small  rooms,  fitted  with  desks,  tables, 
and  whatever  else  might  be  necessarj-.  Some  of  these 
rooms  v/ere  called  music-rooms,  and  were  intended  for 
instruction  and  practice  on  different  instruments. 
Others  were  for  painting,  drawing,  sculpture,  model- 
ling, wood-carving,  leather- work,  brass- work,  embroid- 
ery, lace- work,  and  all  manner  of  small  arts. 

"In  the  Palace  of  Delight,"  said  Angela,  "we  shall 
not  be  like  a  troop  of  revellers,  thinking  of  nothing  but 
dance  and  song  and  feasting.  We  shall  learn  some- 
thing every  day;  we  shall  all  belong  to  some  class. 
Those  of  us  who  know  already  will  teach  the  rest.  And 
oh !  the  best  part  of  all  has  to  be  told.  Everything  in 
the  palace  will  be  done  for  nothing  except  the  mere 
cleaning  and  keeping  in  order.  And  if  anybody  is  paid 
anything,  it  will  be  at  the  rate  of  a  working-man's 
wage — no  more.     For  this  is  our  own  palace,  the  club 


424  ALL  SORTS  AXD  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

of  the  working-people ;  we  will  not  let  an^ybod}^  make 
money  out  of  it.  We  shall  use  it  for  ourselves,  and  we 
shall  make  our  enjoyment  by  ourselves. 

"  All  this  is  provided  in  the  deed  of  trust  by  which 
Miss  Messenger  hands  over  the  building  to  the  people. 
There  are  three  trustees.  One  of  these,  of  course,  is 
you— Mr.  Goslett." 

"I  have  been  so  lost  in  amazement,"  said  Harry, 
"that  I  have  been  unable  to  speak.  Is  this,  in  very 
truth,  the  Palace  of  Delight  that  we  have  battled  over 
so  long  and  so  often?" 

"  It  is  none  other.  And  you  are  a  trustee  to  carry 
out  the  intentions  of  the  founder — yourself." 

They  went  downstairs  again  to  the  great  hall, 

"Captain  Sorensen,"  Angela  whispered,  "will  you 
go  home  with  the  girls?  I  will  follow  in  a  few  min- 
utes." 

Harry  and  Angela  were  left  behind  in  the  hall. 

She  called  the  man  in  charge  of  the  electric  light, 
and  said  something  to  him.  Then  he  went  away  and 
turned  down  the  light,  and  they  were  standing  in  dark- 
ness, save  for  the  bright  moon  which  shone  through  the 
windows  and  fell  upon  the  white  statues  and  made  them 
look  like  two  ghosts  themselves  standing  among  rows 
of  other  ghosts. 

"  Harry,"  said  Angela. 

"Do  not  mock  me,"  he  replied:  "I  am  in  a  dream. 
This  is  not  real.     The  place " 

"  It  is  your  o\vn  Palace  of  Delight.  It  will  be  given 
to  the  people  in  a  fortnight.  Are  you  pleased  with 
vour  creation?" 

"Pleased?     And  you?" 

"  I  am  greatly  pleased.  Harry" — it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  called  him  by  his  Christian  name — "  I  prom- 
ised you — I  promised  I  would  tell  you — I  would  tell  you 
— if  the  time  should  come " 

"Has  the  time  come?  O  my  dear  love,  has  the 
time  come?" 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  way.  But  oh ! — Harrj- — 
are  you  in  the  same  mind?  No — wait  a  moment."  She 
held  him  by  the  wrists.  "  Remember  what  you  are  do- 
ing.    Will  you  choose  a  lifetime  of  work  among  work- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN  425 

ing-people?  You  can  go  back,  now,  to  your  old  life; 
but— pei'haps — you  will  not  be  able  to  go  back,  then." 

"  I  have  chosen,  long  ago.  You  know  my  choice — 
O  love — my  love." 

"  Then,  Harry,  if  it  will  make  you  happy — are  you 
quite  sure  it  will? — you  shall  marry  me  on  the  day 
when  the  Palace  is  opened." 

"You  are  sure,"  she  said,  presently  "that  you  can 
love  me,  though  I  am  only  a  dressmaker?" 

"  Could  I  love  you,"  he  replied,  passionately,  "if  you 
were  anything  else?" 

"  You  have  never  told  me, "  he  said,  presently,  "  your 
Christian  name." 

"It  is  Angela." 

"  Angela !  I  should  have  known  it  could  have  been 
no  other.  Angela,  kind  heaven  surely  sent  3'ou  down 
to  stay  awhile  with  me.  If,  in  time  to  come,  you  should 
be  ever  unhappy  with  me,  dear,  if  you  should  not  be 
able  to  bear  any  longer  with  my  faults,  you  would  leave 
me  and  go  back  to  the  heaven  whence  you  came." 

They  parted,  that  night,  on  the  steps  of  Mrs.  Borma- 
lack's  ding}^  old  boarding-house,  to  both  so  dear.  But 
Harry,  for  half  the  night,  paced  the  pavement,  trj^ng 
to  calm  the  tumult  of  his  thoughts.  "  A  life  of  work — 
with  Angela — with  Angela?  Why,  how  small,  how 
pitiful  seemed  all  other  kinds  of  life  in  which  Angela 
was  not  concerned !" 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

MY   LADY   SWEET. 

My  story,  alas !  has  come  to  an  end,  according  to  the 
nature  of  all  earthly  things.  The  love  vows  are  ex- 
changed, the  girl  has  given  herself  to  the  man — rich  or 
poor.  My  friends,  if  you  come  to  think  of  it,  no  girl  is 
so  rich  that  she  can  give  more,  or  so  poor  that  she  can 
give  less,  than  herself;  and  in  love  one  asks  not  for 
more  or  less.  Even  the  day  is  appointed,  and  nothing 
is  going  to  happen  which  will  prevent  the  blessed  wed- 


426  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

ding-bells  from  ringing,  or  the  clergyman  from  the  sa- 
cred joining  together  of  man  and  of  maid,  till  death  do 
part  them.  What  more  to  tell?  We  ought  to  drop  the 
curtain  while  the  moonlight  pours  through  the  windows 
of  the  silent  palace  upon  the  lovers,  wdiile  the  gods  and 
goddesses,  nymphs,  naiads,  and  oreads  in  marble  look 
on  in  sympathetic  joy.  They,  too,  in  the  far-off  ages, 
among  the  woods  and  springs  of  Hellas,  lived  and  loved, 
though  their  forests  know  them  no  more.  Yet,  because 
this  was  no  ordinary  marriage,  and  because  wo  are 
sorry  to  part  with  Angela  before  the  day  when  she  be- 
gins her  w^edded  life,  we  must  fain  tell  of  what  j^assed 
in  that  brief  fortnight  before  the  Palace  was  opened, 
and  Angela's  great  and  noble  dream  became  a  reality. 

There  was,  first  of  all,  a  great  deal  of  business  to  be 
set  in  order.  Angela  had  interviews  with  her  lawyers, 
and  settlements  had  to  be  drawn  up  about  which  Harry 
knew  nothing,  though  he  would  have  to  sign  them; 
then  there  were  the  trust-deeds  for  the  Palace.  An- 
gela named  Harry,  Dick  Coppin,  the  old  Chartist,  now 
lier  firm  and  fast  friend,  and  Lord  Jocel3"n,  as  joint 
trustees.  They  were  to  see,  first  of  all,  that  no  one  got 
anything  out  of  the  Palace  unless  it  might  be  work- 
men's wages  for  work  done.  They  were  to  carry  out 
the  spirit  of  the  house  in  making  the  place  support  and 
feed  itself,  so  that  whatever  amusements,  plays,  dances, 
interludes,  or  mummeries  were  set  afoot,  all  might  be 
by  the  people  themselves  for  themselves;  and  they  were 
to  do  their  utmost  to  keep  out  of  the  discordant  ele- 
ments of  politics,  religion,  and  party  controversy. 

All  the  girls  knew  by  this  time  that  Miss  Kenned}' 
was  to  be  married  on  the  second  of  March — the  day 
when  the  Palace  was  to  be  opened.  They  also  learned, 
because  the  details  were  arranged  and  talked  over  every 
evening,  that  the  opening  would  be  on  a  very  grand 
scale  indeed.  Miss  Messenger  herself  was  coming  to 
hand  it  over  in  person  to  the  trustees  on  behalf  of  the 
people  of  Stepney  and  Whitechapel.  There  was  to  be 
the  acting  of  a  play  in  the  new  theatre,  a  recital  on  the 
new  organ,  the  performance  of  a  concert  in  the  new 
concert-room,  plaj^ing  all  the  evening  long  by  a  military 
band,  some  sort  of  general  entertainment;  and  the 
whole  was  to  be  terminated  by  a  gigantic  supper  given 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  427 

by  Miss  Messenger  herself,  to  which  fifteen  hundred 
guests  were  bidden — namely,  first,  all  the  employees  of 
the  brewery  with  their  wives,  if  they  had  any,  from  the 
chief  brewer  and  the  chief  accountant  down  to  the  hum- 
blest boy  in  the  establishment;  and,  second!}',  all  the 
girls  in  the  Association,  with  two  or  three  guests  for 
each;  and,  thirdly,  a  couple  of  hundred  or  so  chosen 
from  a  list  drawn  up  by  Dick  Coppin,  and  the  cobbler, 
and  Harr}'. 

As  for  Harry,  he  had  now,  by  Angela's  recommen- 
dation, resigned  his  duties  at  the  Brewery,  in  order  to 
throw  his  whole  time  into  the  arrangement  for  the  open- 
ing day ;  and  this  so  greatly  occupied  him  that  he  some- 
times even  forgot  what  the  day  would  mean  to  him. 
The  invitations  were  sent  in  Miss  Messenger's  own 
name.  They  were  all  accepted,  although  there  was  nat- 
urally some  little  feeling  of  irritation  at  the  brewery 
when  it  became  known  tliat  there  was  to  be  a  general 
sitting  down  of  all  together.  Miss  Messenger  also  ex- 
pressed her  wish  that  the  only  beverage  at  the  supper 
should  be  Messenger's  beer,  and  that  of  the  best  quality. 
The  banquet,  in  imitation  of  the  Lord  Mayor's  dinner 
on  the  ninth  of  November,  was  to  be  a  cold  one,  and 
solid,  with  plenty  of  ices,  jellies,  puddings,  and  fruit. 
But  there  was  something  said  about  glasses  of  wine  for 
every  guest  after  supper. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Angela,  talking  over  this  pleasant 
disposition  of  things  with  Harry,  "  that  she  means  one 
or  two  toasts  to  be  proposed.  The  first  should  be  to  the 
success  of  the  Palace.  The  second,  I  think" — and  she 
blushed — "will  be  the  health  of  you,  Harry,  and  of 
me." 

"  I  think  so  much  of  you,"  said  Harry,  "  all  day  long, 
that  I  never  think  of  Miss  Messenger  at  all.  Tell  me 
what  she  is  like,  this  giver  and  dispenser  of  princely 
gifts.  I  suppose  she  really  is  the  owner  of  boundless 
wealth?" 

"  She  has  several  millions,  if  j'ou  call  that  boundless. 
She  has  been  a  very  good  friend  to  me,  and  will  con- 
tinue so. " 

"You  know  her  well?" 

"I  know  her  very  well.  O  Harry,  do  not  ask  me 
any  more  about  her  or  myself.     When  we  are  married 


428  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

I  will  tell  you  all  about  the  friendship  of  Miss  Messen- 
ger to  me.     You  trust  me,  do  you  notV" 

"Trust  you!     O  Angela!" 

"  My  secret,  such  as  it  is,  is  not  a  shameful  one,  Har- 
ry ;  and  it  has  to  do  with  the  very  girl,  this  Miss  Mes- 
senger. Leave  me  with  it  till  the  day  of  our  wedding, 
I  wonder  how  far  j^our  patience  will  endure  my  secrets? 
for  here  is  another.  You  know  that  I  have  a  little 
money?" 

"1  am  afraid,  my  Angela,"  said  Harry,  laughing, 
"  that  you  must  have  made  a  terrible  hole  in  it  since 
you  came  here.  Little  or  much,  what  does  it  matter  to 
us?  Haven't  we  got  the  two  thousand?  Think  of  that 
tremendous  lump." 

"What  can  it  matter?"  she  cried.  "O  Harry,  I 
thank  Heaven  for  letting  me,  too,  have  this  great  gift 
of  sweet  and  disinterested  love.  I  thought  it  would 
never  come  to  me." 

"  To  whom,  then,  should  it  come?" 

"Don't,  Harry,  or — yes — go  on  thinking  me  all  that 
you  say,  because  it  may  help  to  make  me  all  that  you 
think.  But  that  is  not  what  I  wanted  to  say.  AVould 
you  mind  very  much,  Harry,  if  I  asked  you  to  take  my 
name?" 

"  I  will  take  an}'  name  you  wish,  Angela.  If  I  am. 
your  husband,  what  does  it  matter  about  any  other 
name?" 

"And  then  one  ether  thing,  HarrJ^  Will  your 
guardian  give  his  consent?" 

'■'  Yes,  I  can  answer  for  him  that  he  will.  And  he 
will  come  to  the  wedding  if  I  ask  him." 

"Then  ask  him,  Harr}*." 

"  So,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  "  the  dressmaker  has  re- 
lented, has  she?  Why,  that  is  well.  And  I  am  to  give 
my  consent?  My  dear  boy,  I  only  want  you  to  be 
happy.  Besides,  I  am  quite  sure  and  certain  that  you 
will  be  happy." 

"  E verj'body  is,  if  he  marries  the  woman  he  loves, " 
said  the  j^oung  man  sententiously. 

"  Yes — yes,  if  he  goes  on  loving  the  woman  he  has 
married.  However,  Harry,  you  have  my  best  wishes 
and  consent,   since  you  are  good  enough  to  ask  for  it. 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  439 

Wait  a  bit."  He  got  up  and  began  to  search  about  in 
drawers  and  desks.  "  I  must  give  your  Jiancee  a  pres- 
ent, Harry.  See — here  is  something  good.  Will  you 
give  her,  with  my  best  love  and  good  wishes,  this?  It 
was  once  my  mother's." 

Harry  looked  at  the  gaud,  set  with  pearls  and  rubies 
in  old-fashioned  style. 

"Is  it  not,"  he  asked,  "rather  too  splendid  for  a — 
poor  people  in  our  position?" 

Lord  Jocelyn  laughed  aloud. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  "can  be  too  splendid  for  a  beau- 
tiful woman.  Give  it  her,  Harr}",  and  tell  her  I  am 
glad  she  has  consented  to  make  you  happy.  Tell  her  I 
am  more  than  glad,  Harry.  Say  that  I  most  heartily 
thank  her.  Yes,  thank  her.  Tell  her  that.  Say  that 
I  thank  her  from  my  heart." 

As  the  day  drew  near  the  girls  became  possessed  of  a 
great  fear.  It  seemed  to  all  as  if  things  were  going  to 
undergo  some  great  and  sudden  change.  They  knew 
that  the  house  was  secured  to  them  free  of  rent ;  but 
they  were  going  to  lose  their  queen,  that  presiding 
spirit  who  not  only  kept  them  together,  but  also  kept 
them  happy.  In  her  presence  there  were  no  little  tem- 
pers, and  jealousies  were  forgotten.  When  she  was 
with  them  they  were  all  on  their  best  behavior.  Now 
it  is  an  odd  thing  in  girls,  and  I  really  think  myself 
privileged,  considering  my  own  very  small  experience 
of  the  sex,  in  being  the  first  to  have  discovered  this 
important  truth — that,  whereas  to  boys  good  behavior  is 
too  often  a  gene  and  a  bore,  girls  prefer  behaving  well. 
They  are  happiest  when  they  are  good,  niceh'  dressed, 
and  sitting  all  in  a  row  with  company  manners.  But 
who,  when  Miss  Kennedy  went  away,  would  lead  them 
in  the  drawing-room?  The  change,  however,  was  go- 
ing to  be  greater  than  they  knew  or  guessed ;  the  draw- 
ing-room itself  would  become  before  many  days  a  thing 
of  the  past,  but  the  Palace  would  take  its  place. 

They  all  brought  gifts;  they  were  simple  things,  but 
they  were  offered  with  willing  and  grateful  hearts. 
Rebekah  brought  the  one  volume  of  her  father's  library 
which  was  well  bound.  It  was  a  work  written  in  imi- 
tation of  Hervey's  "Meditations,"  and  dwelt  princi- 
pally with  tombs,  and  was  therefore  peculiarly  appro- 


430  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

priate  as  a  wedding  present.  Nelly  brought  a  ring 
Avliich  had  been  her  mother's,  and  was  so  sacred  to  her 
that  she  felt  it  must  be  given  to  Miss  Kennedy;  the 
other  girls  gave  worked  handkerchiefs,  and  collars,  and 
such  little  things. 

Angela  looked  at  the  table  on  which  she  had  spread 
all  her  wedding  presents :  the  plated  teapot  from  Mrs. 
Bormalack;  the  girls'  work;  Nelly's  ring;  Rebekah's 
book;  Lord  Joceljm's  bracelet.  She  was  happier  with 
these  trifles  than  if  she  had  received  in  Portman  S(j[uare 
the  hundreds  of  gifts  and  jewelled  things  which  would 
have  poured  in  for  the  young  heiress. 

And  in  the  short  fortnight  she  thought  for  every- 
bod)\  Joscphus  received  a  message  that  he  might  im- 
mediately retire  on  the  pension  which  he  would  have 
received  had  he  been  fortunate  in  promotion,  and  been 
compelled  to  go  by  ill-health :  in  other  words,  he  was 
set  free  with  three  hundred  pounds  a  j^ear  for  life.  He 
may  now  be  seen  any  day  in  the  Mile  End  Road  or  on 
Stepney  Green,  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  a  young  man 
of  twenty-one  or  so,  walking  with  elastic  step,  because 
he  is  so  young,  yet  manifesting  a  certain  gravity,  as 
becomes  one  who  attends  the  evening  lectures  of  the 
Beaumont  Institute  in  French  and  arithmetic,  and 
takes  a  class  on  the  Sabbath  in  connection  with  the 
Wesleyan  body.  After  all,  a  man  is  only  as  old  as  he 
feels ;  and  why  should  not  Josephus,  whose  youth  was 
cruelly  destroyed,  feel  young  again,  now  that  his  honor 
has  been  restored  to  him? 

On  the  morning  before  the  wedding,  Angela  paid  two 
visits  of  considerable  importance. 

The  first  was  to  Daniel  Fagg,  to  whom  she  carried  a 
small  parcel.  "  My  friend,"  she  said,  "  I  have  observed 
your  impatience  about  your  book.  Your  publisher 
thought  that,  as  j^ou  are  inexperienced  in  correcting 
proofs,  it  would  be  best  to  have  the  work  done  for  you. 
And  here,  I  am  truly  happy  to  say,  is  the  book  itself." 

He  tore  the  covering  from  the  book,  and  seized  it  as 
a  mother  would  seize  her  child. 

"  My  book !"  he  gasped,  "  my  book !" 

Yes,  his  book;  bound  in  sober  cloth,  with  an  equi- 
lateral triangle  on  the  cover  for  simple  ornament.  "  The 
Primitive  Alphabet,  by  Daniel  Fagg !"    "  My  book !" 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIO.\S  OF  MEN.  431 

Angela  explained  to  him  that  his  passage  to  Mel- 
bourne was  taken,  and  that  he  would  sail  in  a  week; 
and  that  a  small  sum  of  money  would  be  put  into  his 
hands  on  landing:  and  that  a  hundred  copies  of  the 
book  would  be  sent  to  Australia  for  him,  with  more  if 
he  wanted  them.  But  she  talked  to  idle  ears,  for  Dan- 
iel was  turning  over  the  leaves  and  devouring  the  con- 
tents of  his  book. 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Angela,  "  I  have  made  one  man 
happy." 

Then  she  walked  to  the  Trinity  Almshouse,  and 
sought  her  old  friend,  Captain  Sorensen. 

To  him  she  told  her  whole  story  from  the  verj^  begin- 
ning, begging  only  that  he  would  keep  her  secret  till 
the  next  evening. 

"  But,  of  course,"  said  the  sailor,  "  I  knew,  all  along, 
that  you  were  a  lady  bom  and  bred.  You  might  de- 
ceive the  folk  here,  who've  no  chance,  poor  things,  of 
knowing  a  lady  when  they  see  one — how  should  they? 
But  you  could  not  deceive  a  man  who's  had  his  quarter- 
deck full  of  ladies.  The  only  question  in  my  mind  was, 
whj^  3'ou  did  it." 

"  You  did  not  think  that  what  Bunker  said  was  true 
— did  3'ou,  Captain  Sorensen?" 

"Nay,"  he  replied.  "Bunker  never  liked  you;  and 
how  I  am  to  thank  you  enough  for  all  you've  done  for 
my  poor  girl " 

"  Thank  me  by  continuing  to  be  my  dear  friend  and 
adviser,"  said  Angela.  "If  I  thought  it  would  pleas- 
ure you  to  live  out  of  this  place " 

"No,  no,"  said  the  captain,  "I  could  not  take  j'our 
money ;  any  one  may  accept  the  provision  of  the  asy- 
lum and  be  grateful." 

"  I  knew  you  would  say  so.  Stay  on,  then.  Captain 
Sorensen.  And  as  regards  Nelly,  my  dear  and  fond 
Nelly " 

It  needs  not  to  tell  what  she  said  and  promised  on 
behalf  of  Nelly. 

And  at  the  house  the  girls  were  tr^'ing  on  the  new 
white  frocks  and  white  bonnets  in  which  they  were  to 
go  to  the  wedding.  They  were  all  bridemaids,  but 
Nelly  had  the  post  of  honor. 


433  ALL  SORTS  A.\D  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

"UPROUSE  YE  THEN,  MY  MERKY,  MERRY  MEN." 

At  nine  in  the  morning  Harry  presented  himself  at 
the  house,  no  longer  his  own,  for  the  signing  of  certain 
papers.  The  place  was  closed  for  a  holiday,  bat  the 
girls  were  already  assembling  in  the  show-room,  getting 
their  dresses  laid  out,  trying  on  their  gloves,  and  chat- 
tering like  birds  up  in  the  branches  on  a  fine,  spring 
morning.  He  found  Angela  sitting  with  an  elderly 
gentleman — none  other  than  the  senior  partner  of  the 
firm  of  her  solicitors.  He  had  a  quantity  of  documents 
on  the  table  before  him,  and  as  Harry  opened  the  door 
he  heard  these  remarkable  words : 

"  So  the  young  man  does  not  know — even  at  the  elev- 
entli  hour?" 

What  it  was  he  would  learn,  Harry  cared  not  to  in- 
quire. He  had  been  told  that  there  was  a  secret  of 
some  sort  which  he  would  learn  in  the  course  of  the 
day. 

"These  papers,  Harry,"  said  his  bride,  "are  certain 
documents  which  you  have  to  sign,  connected  with  that 
little  fortune  of  which  1  told  you. " 

"I  hope,"  said  Harry,  "that  the  fortune,  whatever  it 
is,  has  all  been  settled  upon  yourself  absolutely." 

"You  will  find,  young  gentleman,"  said  the  solicitor, 
gravely,  "  that  ample  justice — generous  justice — has 
been  done  you.     Very  well,  I  will  say  no  more." 

"  Do  3'ou  want  me  to  sign  without  reading,  Angela?" 

"  If  you  will  so  far  trust  me." 

He  took  the  pen  and  signed  where  he  was  told  to 
sign,  without  reading  one  word.  If  he  had  been  or- 
dered to  sign  awaj'  his  life  and  liberty,  he  would  have 
done  so  blindly  and  cheerfully  at  Angela's  bidding. 
The  deed  was  sig-ned,  and  the  act  of  signature  was  wit- 
nessed. 

So  that  was  done.  There  now  remained  only  the 
ceremony.  While  the  solicitor,  who  evidently  disliked 
the  whole  proceeding,  as  irregular  and  dangerous,  was 
putting  up  the  papers,  Angela  took  her  lover's  hands 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COyDITIOXS  OF  MEN.  433 

in  hers,  and  looked  into  his  face  with  her  frank  and 
searching  look. 

"  You  do  not  repent,  my  poor  Harrv^" 

"Repent?"  "^  ' 

"You  might  have  done  so  much  better:  tou  miirht 
liave  married  a  lady " 

The  solicitor,  overhearing  these  words,  sat  donm  and 
ruobed  his  nose  with  an  unprofessional  smile. 

"Shall  I  not  many  a  lady?" 

"You  might  have  found  a  rich  bride:  you  might 
have  led  a  lazy  life,  with  nothing  to  do,  instead  of 
which— O  Harry,  there  is  still  time!  We  are  not  due 
at  the  church  for  half  an  hour  yet.  Think.  Do  you 
deliberately  choose  a  life  of  work  and  ambition— with 
—perhaps — poverty  ?  " 

At  this  point  the  solicitor  rose  from  his  chair  and 
walked  softly  to  the  window,  where  he  remained  for 
five  minutes  looking  out  upon  Stepney  Green  with  his 
back  to  the  lovers.  If  Harry  had  been  watching  him, 
he  would  have  remarked  a  curious  tremulous  movement 
of  the  shoulders. 

"  There  is  one  thing  more,  Harry,  that  I  have  to  ask 
you. 

'■  Of  coursj^,  you  have  only  to  ask  me,  whatever  it  is. 
Could  I  refuse  you  anything,  who  will  give  me  so 
much?' 

^    Their  fingers  were  interlaced,  their  eves  were  looking 
into  each  other.     No ;  he  could  refuse  her  nothing. 

"I  give  you  much?  O  Harry!  what  is  a  woman's 
gift  of  herself?" 

Harry  restrained  himself.  The  solicitor  might  be 
sympathetic ;  but,  on  the  whole,  it  was  best  to  act  as  if 
he  were  not.  Law  has  little  to  do  with  love;  Cupid 
has  never  j^et  been  represented  with  the  long  gown. 

"It  is  a  strange  request,  Harry.  It  is  connected 
with  m^- — my  little  foolish  secret.  You  will  let  me  go 
away  directly  the  service  is  over,  and  you  will  consent 
not  to  see  me  again  until  the  evening,  when  I  shall  re- 
turn. You,  with  all  the  girls,  will  meet  me  in  the 
porch  of  the  Palace  at  seven  o'clock  exactly.  And,  as 
]\Iiss  Messenger  will  come  too,  you  will  make  j'our — 
perhaps  3'our  last  appearance — mj'  jwor  boy — in  the 
character  of  a  modern  English  gentleman  in  evening- 
28 


484  ALL  SORl'S  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

dress.  Tell  your  best  man  that  he  is  to  give  his  arm  to 
Nelly ;  the  other  girls  will  follow  two  and  two.  Oh, 
Harry,  the  first  sound  of  the  organ  in  your  Palace  will 
be  your  own  wedding  march :  the  first  festival  in  your 
Palace  will  be  in  your  own  honor.  Is  not  that  what  it 
should  be?" 

"  In  3^ our  honor,  dear,  not  mine.  And  Miss  Messen- 
ger? Are  we  to  give  no  honor  to  her  who  built  the 
Palace?" 

■'  Oh,  yes — 3'es — yes !"  She  put  the  question  by  with 
a  careless  gesture.  "  But  any  one  wlio  happened  to 
have  the  money  could  do  such  a  simple  thing.  The 
honor  is  j'ours  because  you  invented  it." 

"  From  your  hands,  Angela,  I  will  take  all  the  honor 
that  you  please  to  give.     So  am  I  doubly  honored." 

There  were  no  wedding  bells  at  all :  the  organ  was 
mute;  the  parish  church  of  Stepney  was  empty;  the 
spectators  of  the  marriage  were  Mrs.  Bormalack  and 
Captain  Sorensen,  besides  the  girls  and  the  bride- 
groom, and  Dick,  his  best  man.  The  captain  in  the 
Salvation  Army  might  have  been  present  as  well; 
he  had  been  asked,  but  he  was  lying  on  the  sick-bed 
from  which  he  was  never  to  rise  again.  Lord  and 
Lady  Davenant  were  there :  the  former  sleek,  well  con- 
tented, well  dressed  in  broadcloth  of  the  best ;  the  latter 
agitated,  restless,  humiliated,  because  she  had  lost  the 
thing  she  came  across  the  Atlantic  to  claim,  and  was 
going  home,  after  the  splendor  of  the  last  three  months, 
to  the  monotonous  level  of  Canaan  City.  Who  could 
love  Canaan  City  after  the  West  End  of  London ! 
What  woman  would  look  forward  with  pleasura  to  the 
dull  and  uneventful  days,  the  local  politics,  the  chapel 
squabbles,  the  little  gatherings  for  tea  and  supper,  after 
the  enjoyment  of  a  carriage  and  pair  and  unlimited 
theatres,  operas,  and  concerts,  and  footmen,  and  such 
dinners  as  the  average  American,  or  the  average  Eng- 
lishman either,  seldom  arrives  at  seeing,  even  in  vis- 
ions? Sweet  content  was  gone;  and  though  Angela 
meant  well,  and  it  was  kind  of  her  to  afford  the  ambi- 
tious lady  a  glimpse  of  that  great  world  into  which  she 
desired  to  enter,  the  sight — even  this  Pisgah  glimpse — 
of  a  social  paradise  to  which  she  could  never  belong 


ALL  SORTS  AND  COXDITIOyS  OF  MEX.  435 

destroyed  her  peace  of  mind,  and  she  will  for  the  rest 
of  her  life  lie  on  a  rock  deploring.  Not  so  her  husband : 
his  future  is  assured;  he  can  eat  and  drink  plentifully; 
he  can  sleep  all  the  morning  undisturbed;  he  is  relieved 
of  the  anxieties  connected  with  his  Case;  and,  though 
the  respect  due  to  rank  is  not  recognized  in  the  States, 
he  has  to  bear  none  of  its  responsibilities,  and  has  alto- 
gether abandoned  the  grand  manner.  At  the  same 
time,  as  one  who  very  nearly  became  a  British  peer, 
his  position  in  Canaan  Cit}^  is  enormously  raised. 

They,  then,  were  in  the  church.  They  drove  thith- 
er, not  in  Miss  Messenger's  carriage,  but  with  Lord 
Jocelyn. 

They  arrived  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  cere- 
mony. When  the  curate  who  was  to  perform  the  cere- 
mony arrived.  Lord  Jocelyn  sought  him  in  the  vestry 
and  showed  him  a  special  license  by  which  it  was  pro- 
nounced lawful,  and  even  laudable,  for  Harry  Goslett, 
bachelor,  to  take  unto  wife  Angela  Marsden  Messenger, 
spinster. 

And  at  sight  of  that  name  did  the  curate's  knees  be- 
gin to  tremble,  and  his  hands  to  shake. 

"Angela  Marsden  Messenger?  is  it  then,"  he  asked, 
"the  great  heiress?" 

"It  is  none  other,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn.  "And  she 
marries  my  ward — here  is  my  card — by  special  li- 
cense. " 

"  But^ — but — is  it  a  clandestine  marriage?" 

"  Not  at  all.  There  are  reasons  why  Miss  ]\Iessenger 
desires  to  be  married  in  Stejmey.  With  them  we  have 
nothing  to  do.  She  has,  of  late,  associated  herself  with 
many  works  of  benevolence,  but  anonymousl}-.  In  fact, 
my  dear  sir" — here  Lord  Jocelyn  looked  profoundly 
knowing — ^"my  ward,  the  bridegroom,  has  always 
known  her  under  another  name,  nnd  even  now  does  not 
know  whom  he  is  marrying.  When  we  sign  the  books 
we  must,  just  to  keep  the  secret  a  little  longer,  manage 
that  he  shall  write  his  own  name  without  seeing  the 
names  of  the  bride." 

This  seemed  very  irregular  in  the  eyes  of  the  curate, 
and  at  first  he  was  for  referring  the  matter  to  the  rec- 
tor, but  finally  gave  in,  on  the  understanding  that  he 
was  to  be  no  party  to  any  concealment. 


436  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

And  presently  the  weduing  party  walked  slowly  up 
the  aisle,  and  Harry,  to  his  great  astonishment,  saw  his 
bride  on  Lord  Jocelyn's  arm.  There  were  cousins  of 
the  Messengers  in  plenty  who  should  have  done  this 
dut}^  but  Angela  would  invite  none  of  them.  She 
came  alone  to  Stepney;  she  lived  and  worked  in  the 
place  alone;  she  wanted  no  consultation  or  discussion 
with  the  cousins;  she  would  tell  them  when  all  was 
done ;  and  she  knew  very  well  that  so  great  an  heiress 
as  herself  could  do  nothing  but  what  is  right,  when  one 
has  time  to  recover  from  the  shock,  and  to  settle  down 
and  think  things  over. 

No  doubt,  though  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
outside  world  in  this  story,  there  was  a  tremendous 
rustling  of  skirts,  shaking  of  heads,  tossing  of  curls, 
wagging  of  tongues,  and  uplifting  of  hands,  the  next 
morning  when  Angela's  cards  were  received,  and  the 
news  was  in  all  the  papers.  And  there  was  such  a  run 
upon  interjections  that  the  vocabulary  broke  down,  and 
people  were  fain  to  cry  to  one  another  in  foreign 
tongues. 

For  thus  the  announcement  ran : 

"On  Thursday,  March  20,  at  the  parish  church, 
Stepney,  Harry,  son  of  the  late  Samuel  Goslett,  Ser- 
geant in  the  ISOth  Regiment  of  the  Line,  to  Angela 
Marsden,  daughter  of  the  late  John  Marsden  Messen- 
ger, and  granddaughter  of  the  late  John  Messenger,  of 
Portman  Square  and  Whitechapel. " 

This  was  a  pretty  blow  among  the  cousins.  The 
greatest  heiress  in  England,  who  they  had  hoped  would 
marry  a  duke,  or  a  marquis,  or  an  earl  at  least,  had 
positively  and  actually  married  the  son  of  a  common 
soldier — well,  a  non-commissioned  officer — the  same 
thing.     What  did  it  mean?     What  could  it  mean? 

Others,  who  knew  Harry  and  his  storj^  who  had 
sj'mpathy  with  him  on  account  of  his  many  qualities — • 
who  owned  that  the  obscurity  of  his  birth  was  but  an 
accident,  shared  with  him  by  many  of  the  most  worthy, 
excellent,  brilliant,  useful,  well-bred,  delightful  men  of 
the  world  —  rejoiced  over  the  strange  irony  of  fate 
which  had  first  lifted  this  soldier's  son  out  of  the  gut- 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  437 

ter,  and  then,  with  apparent  malignity,  dropped  him 
back  again,  only,  however,  to  raise  him  once  more  far 
higher  than  before.  For,  indeed,  the  j^oung  man  was 
now  rich — with  his  vats  and  his  mashtubs,  his  millions 
of  casks,  his  Old  and  his  Mild  and  his  Bitter,  and  his 
Familj^  at  nine  shillings  the  nine-gallon  cask,  and  his 
accumulated  millions,  "  beyond  the  potential  dream  of 
avarice."  If  he  chooses  to  live  more  than  half  his  time 
in  Whitechapel,  that  is  no  concern  of  an3'body's;  and 
if  his  wife  chooses  to  hold  a  sort  of  court  at  the  aban- 
doned East,  to  surround  herself  with  people  unheard  of 
in  society,  not  to  say  out  of  it,  why  should  she  not? 
Any  of  the  royal  princes  might  have  done  the  same 
thing  if  they  h:id  chosen  and  had  been  well-advised. 
Further,  if,  between  them,  Angela  and  her  husband 
have  established  a  superior  Aquarium,  a  glorified  Crj's- 
tal  Palace,  in  which  all  the  shows  arc  open,  all  the  per- 
formers are  drilled  and  trained  amateurs,  and  all  the 
work  actually  is  done  for  nothing ;  in  which  the  man- 
agement is  by  the  people  themselves,  who  will  have  no 
interference  from  priest  or  parson,  rector  or  curate, 
philanthropist  or  agitator ;  and  no  patronage  from  so- 
cieties, well-intentioned  young  ladies,  meddling  benevo- 
lent persons  and  officious  promoters,  starters,  and  shov- 
ers-along,  with  half  an  eye  fixed  on  heaven  and  the 
remaining  eye  and  a  half  on  their  own  advancement — ■ 
if,  in  fact,  they  choose  to  do  these  things,  why  not?  It 
is  an  excellent  way  of  spending  their  time,  and  a 
change  from  the  monotony  of  society. 

Again,  it  is  said  that  Harry,  now  Harry  Messenger 
by  the  provision  of  old  John  Messenger's  will,  is  the 
President,  or  the  Chairman,  or  the  Honorary  Secretary — 
in  fact,  the  spring  and  stay  and  prop  of  a  new  and 
most  formidable  Union  or  Association,  which  threat- 
ens, unless  it  be  nipped  in  the  bud,  very  considerable 
things  of  the  greatest  importance  to  the  country.  It  is, 
in  fact,  a  League  of  Working-men  for  the  promotion 
and  advancement  of  their  own  interests.  Its  prospectus 
sets  forth  that,  having  looked  in  vain  among  the  candi- 
dates for  the  House  of  Commons  for  any  representative 
who  had  been  in  the  past,  or  was  likely  to  be  in  the  fu- 
ture, of  the  slightest  use  to  them  in  the  House;  having 
found  that   neither    Conservatives,  nor   Liberals,  nor 


438  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

Radicals  have  ever  been,  or  are  ever  likely  to  be,  pre- 
pared with  any  real  measure  which  should  in  the  least 
concern  themselves  and  their  own  wants;  and  fully  rec- 
ognizing the  fact  that  in  the  debates  of  the  House  the 
interests  of  labor  and  the  duties  of  Government  toward 
the  laboring  classes  are  never  recognized  or  understood 
— the  working-men  of  the  countr}*  hereby  form  them- 
selves into  a  General  League  or  Union,  which  shall 
have  no  other  object  whatever  than  the  study  of  their 
own  rights  and  interests.  The  question  of  wages  will 
be  left  to  the  different  unions,  except  in  such  cases 
where  there  is  no  union,  or  where  the  men  are  inarticu- 
late (as  in  the  leading  case,  now  some  ten  years  old,  of 
the  gas-stokers)  through  ignorance  and  drink.  And 
the  immediate  questions  before  the  union  will  be,  first, 
the  dwelling-houses  of  the  working-men,  which  are  to 
be  made  clean,  safe,  and  healthy ;  next,  their  food  and 
drink,  wliich  are  to  be  unadulterated,  pure,  and  genuine, 
and  are  to  pass  through  no  more  hands  than  is  neces- 
sary, and  to  be  distributed  at  the  actual  cost  price 
v/ithout  the  intervention  of  small  shops;  next,  instruc- 
tion, for  which  purpose  the  working-men  will  elect 
their  own  school  boards,  and  burn  all  the  foolish  read- 
ing-books at  present  in  use,  and  abolish  spelling  as  a 
part  of  education,  and  teach  the  things  necessary  for 
all  trades ;  next,  clothing,  which  will  be  made  for  them 
b}'  their  own  men  working  for  themselves,  without 
troubling  the  employers  of  labor  at  all;  next,  a  news- 
paper of  their  own,  which  will  refuse  any  place  to  po- 
litical agitators,  leaders,  partisans,  and  professional 
talkers,  and  be  devoted  to  the  questions  which  really 
concern  working-men,  and  especially  the  question  of 
how  best  to  employ  the  power  which  is  in  their  hands, 
and  report  continually  what  is  doing,  what  must  be 
done,  and  how  it  must  be  done.  And  lastly,  emigra- 
tion, so  that  in  every  family  it  shall  be  considered  nec- 
essary^ for  some  to  go,  and  the  whole  country  shall  be 
mapped  out  into  districts,  and  only  a  certain  number 
be  allowed  to  remain. 

Now,  the  world  being  so  small  as  it  is,  and  English- 
men and  Scotchmen  being  so  masterful  that  they  must 
needs  go  straight  to  the  front  and  stay  there,  it  cannot 
but  happen  that  the  world  will  presently — that  is,  in 


ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIONS  OF  MEN.  439 

two  generations,  or  three  at  the  most — be  overrun  with 
the  good  old  English  blood :  whereupon  til]  the  round 
earth  gets  too  small,  which  will  not  happen  for  another 
ten  thousand  years  or  so,  there  will  be  the  purest,  most 
delightful,  and  most  heavenly  Millennium.  Rich  peo- 
ple may  come  into  it  if  they  please,  but  they  will  not 
be  wanted :  in  fact,  rich  people  will  die  out,  and  it  will 
soon  come  to  be  considered  mi  imhappy  thing,  as  it  un- 
doubtedly is,  to  be  born  rich. 

• 

— "  Whose  daughters  ye  are, "  concluded  the  curate, 
closing  his  book,  "  as  long  as  ye  do  well,  and  are  not 
afraid  with  any  amazement. " 

Ho  led  the  way  into  the  vestry,  where  the  book  lay 
open,  and  sitting  at  the  table  he  made  the  proper  en- 
tries. 

Then  Harry  took  his  place  and  signed.  Now,  be- 
hold !  as  he  took  the  pen  in  his  hand.  Lord  Jocelj-n  art- 
fully held  blotting-paper  in  readiness,  and  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  hide  the  name  of  the  bride ;  then  Angela 
signed ;  then  the  witnesses.  Lord  Joceh'n  and  Captain 
Sorensen.  And  then  there  were  shaking  of  hands  and 
kissing.  And  before  they  came  away  the  curate  ven- 
tured timidl}^  to  whisper  congratulations  and  that  he 
had  no  idea  of  the  honox*.  And  then  Angela  stopped 
him,  and  bade  him  to  her  wedding-feast  that  evening 
at  the  new  Palace  of  Delight. 

Then  Lord  Jocelyn  distributed  largess,  the  largest 
kind  of  largess,  among  the  people  of  the  church. 

But  it  surely  was  the  strangest  of  weddings.  For 
when  they  reached  the  church  door  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom kissed  each  other,  and  then  he  placed  her  in  the 
carriage,  in  which  the  Davenants  and  Lord  Jocelyn 
also  seated  themselves,  and  so  they  drove  olT. 

"  We  sliall  see  her  again  to-night,"  said  Harry. 
"Come,  Dick,  we  have  got  a  long  da}'  to  get  through — 
seven  hours.  Let  us  go  for  a  walk.  I  can't  sit  down ; 
I  can't  rest;  I  can't  do  anything.  Let  us  go  for  a  walk 
and  wrangle." 

They  left  the  girls  and  strode  away,  and  did  not  re- 
turn until  it  was  past  six  o'clock,  and  already  growing 
dark. 

The  girls,  in  dreadful  lowness  of  spirits,  and  feeling 


440  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

as  flat  as  so  many  pancakes,  returned  to  their  house  and 
sat  down  with  their  hands  in  their  laps,  to  do  nothing 
for  seven  hours.  Did  one  ever  hear  that  the  maidens 
at  a  marriage — do  the  customs  of  any  country  present 
an  example  of  such  a  thing — returned  to  the  bride's 
house  without  either  bride  or  bridegroom?  Did  one 
ever  hear  of  a  marriage  where  the  groom  left  the  bride 
at  the  church  door,  and  went  away  for  a  six  hours' 
walk? 

As  for  Captain  Sorensen,  he  went  to  the  Palace  and 
pottered  about,  getting  snubbed  by  the  persons  in  au- 
thority. There  was  still  much  to  be  done  before  the 
evening,  but  there  was  time :  all  would  be  done.  Pres- 
ently he  went  away ;  but  he,  too,  was  restless  and  agi- 
tated ;  he  could  not  rest  at  home ;  the  possession  of  the 
secret,  the  thought  of  his  daughter's  future,  the  strange 
and  unlooked-for  ha])piness  that  had  come  to  him  in  his 
old  age — these  things  agitated  him;  nor  could  even  his 
fiddle  bring  him  an}^  consolation ;  and  the  peacef ulness 
of  the  Almshouse,  which  generally  soothed  him,  this 
day  irritated  him.  Therefore  he  wandered  about,  and 
presently  appeared  at  the  House,  were  he  took  dinner 
with  the  girls,  and  they  talked  about  what  would  hap- 
pen. 

The  first  thing  that  happened  was  the  arrival  of  a 
cart — a  spring-cart — with  the  name  of  a  Regent  Street 
firm  upon  it.  The  men  took  out  a  great  quantity  of 
parcels  and  brought  them  into  the  show-room.  All 
the  girls  ran  down  to  see  what  it  meant,  because  on  so 
great  a  day  everj^thing,  said  Nellj^,  must  mean  some- 
thing. 

"  Name  of  Hermitage?"  asked  the  man.  "  This  is  for 
3'ou,  miss.  Name  of  Sorensen?  This  is  for  you." 
And  so  on,  a  parcel  for  every  one  of  the  girls. 

Then  he  went  awaj^,  and  they  all  looked  at  each 
other. 

"  Hadn't  you  better,"  asked  Captain  Sorensen,  "open 
the  parcels,  girls?" 

They  opened  them. 

"  Oh— h !" 

Behold !  for  every  girl  such  a  present  as  none  of  them 
had  ever  imagined !  The  masculine  pen  cannot  describe 
the  sweet  things  which  thev  found  there ;  not  silks  and 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  441 

satins,  but  pretty  things;  with  boots,  because  dress- 
makers are  apt  to  be  shabby  in  the  matter  of  boots ; 
and  with  handkerchiefs  and  pretty  scarfs  and  gloves 
and  serviceable  things  of  all  sorts. 

More  than  this :  there  was  a  separate  parcel  tied  up 
in  white  paper  for  every  girl,  and  on  it,  in  pencil, "For 
the  wedding  supper  at  the  Palace  of  Delight."  And 
in  it  gauze,  or  lace,  for  bridemaid's  head-dress,  and 
white  kid  gloves,  and  a  necklace  with  a  locket,  and  in- 
side the  locket  a  portrait  of  Miss  Kennedy,  and  outside 
her  Christian  name,  Angela.  Also,  for  each  girl  a  lit- 
tle note,  "For ,  with  Miss  Messenger's  love;"  but 

for  Nell}",  whose  parcel  was  like  Benjamin's  mess,  the 
note  was,  "For  Nelly,  with  Miss  Messenger's  kindest 
love." 

"That,"  s?id  Rebekah,  but  without  jealousy,  "is  be- 
cause j'ou  were  Miss  Kennedy's  favorite.  Well!  Miss 
Messenger  must  be  fond  of  her,  and  no  wonder!" 

"  No  wonder  at  all,"  said  Captain  Sorensen. 

And  nobody  guessed.  Nobody  had  the  least  suspi- 
cion. 

While  they  were  all  admiring  and  wondering,  Mrs. 
Bormalack  ran  over  breathless. 

"My  dears!"  she  cried,  "look  what's  come!" 

Nothing  less  than  a  beautiful  black  silk  dress. 

"Now  go  away.  Captain  Sorensen,"  she  said;  "you 
men  are  only  hindering.  And  we've  got  to  try  on 
things.  Oh,  good  gracious!  To  think  that  Miss  Mes- 
senger would  remember  me,  of  all  people  in  the  world! 
To  be  sure,  Mr.  Bormalack  was  one  of  her  collectors, 
and  she  may  have  heard  about  me " 

"No,"  said  Rebekah,  "it  is  through  Miss  Kennedy; 
no  one  has  been  forgotten  who  knew  her." 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  the  great  hall  of  the 
Palace  was  pretty  well  filled  with  guests.  Some  of 
them,  armed  with  wbite  wands,  acted  as  stewards,  and 
it  was  understood  that  on  the  arrival  of  Miss  Messenger 
a  lane  was  to  be  formed,  and  the  procession  to  the  dais 
at  the  end  of  the  hall  was  to  pass  through  that  lane. 

Outside,  in  the  vestibule,  stood  the  wedding-party, 
wailing:  the  bridegroom,  with  his  best  man,  and  the 
bridemaids  in  their  white  dresses,  flowing  gauze  and 


U2  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

necklaces,  and  gloves,  and  flowers — a  very  sweet  and 
beautiful  bev}^  of  girls;  Harry  for  the  last  time  in  his 
life,  he  thought  with  a  sigh,  in  evening-dress.  Within 
the  hall  there  were  strange  rumors  Hying  about.  It 
was  said  that  Miss  Messenger  herself  had  bee7i  married 
that  morning,  and  that  the  procession  would  be  for  her 
wedding ;  but  others  knew  better :  it  was  Miss  Ken- 
ned3*'s  wedding;  she  had  married  Harry  Goslett,  the 
man  they  called  Gentleman  Jack ;  and  Miss  Kennedy, 
everybod}'  knew,  was  patronized  by  Miss  Messenger, 

At  ten  minutes  past  seven,  two  carriages  drew  up. 
From  the  first  of  these  descended  Harry's  bride,  led  by 
Lord  Jocelyn ;  and  from  the  second  the  Davenants. 

Yes,  Harry's  bride.  But  whereas  in  the  morning 
she  had  been  dressed  in  a  plain  white  frock  and  white 
bonnet  like  her  bridemaids — she  was  now  arrayed  in 
white  satin,  mj'stic,  wonderful,  with  white  veil  and 
white  flowers,  and  round  her  white  throat  a  necklace 
of  sparkling  diamonds,  and  diamonds  in  her  hair. 

Harry  stepped  forward  with  beating  heart. 

"Take  her,  boy,"  said  Lord  Jocelyn,  proudly.  "But 
you  have  married^-not  Miss  Kennedy  at  all — but  An- 
gela Messenger." 

Harr}'  took  his  bride's  hand  in  a  kind  of  stupor. 
What  did  Lord  Jocelyn  mean? 

"Forgive  me,  Harry,"  she  said,  "say  you  forgive 
me." 

Then  he  raised  her  veil  and  kissed  her  forehead  before 
them  all.  But  he  could  not  speak,  because  all  in  a  mo- 
ment the  sense  of  what  this  would  mean  poured  upon 
his  brain  in  a  great  wave,  and  he  would  fain  have  been 
alone. 

It  was  Miss  Kennedy,  indeed,  but  glorified  into  a 
great  lady ;  oh !— oh — Miss  Messenger  ! 

The  girls,  frightened,  were  shrinking  together ;  even 
Rebekah  was  afraid  at  the  great  and  mighty  name  of 
Messenger. 

Angela  went  among  them,  and  kissed  them  all  with 
words  of  encouragement.  "Can  you  not  love  me, 
Nelly,"  she  said,  "as  well  when  I  am  rich  as  when  I 
was  poor?" 

Then  the  chief  officers  of  the  brewery  advanced,  of- 
fering congratulations  in  timid  accents,  because  they 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  443 

knew  now  that  Miss  Kennedy,  the  dressmaker,  of  whom 
such  hard  things  had  been  sometimes  said  in  their  own 
presence  and  b}^  their  own  wives,  was  no  other  than 
the  sole  partner  in  the  brewery,  and  that  her  husband 
had  worked  among  them  for  a  daily  wage.  What  did 
these  things  mean?  They  made  respectable  men  afraid. 
One  person  there  was,  however,  who  at  sight  of  Miss 
IMessenger,  for  whom  he  was  waiting  with  anxious 
heart,  having  a  great  desire  to  present  his  own  case  of 
unrewarded  zeal,  turned  pale,  and  broke  through  the 
crowd  with  violence  and  fled.     It  was  Uncle  Bunker. 

And  then  the  stewards  appeared  at  the  open  doors, 
and  the  procession  was  formed. 

First  the  stewards  themselves — being  all  clerks  of  the 
brewery — walked  proudly  at  the  head,  carr3ing  their 
white  wands  like  rifles.  Next  came  Harry  and  the 
bride,  at  sight  of  whom  the  guests  shouted  and  roared ; 
next  came  Dick  Coppin  with  Nellj^,  and  Lord  Jocelyn 
with  Rebekah,  and  the  chief  brewer  with  Ladv  Dave- 
nant,  of  course  in  her  black  velvet  and  war-paint,  and 
Lord  Davenant  with  Mrs.  Bormalack,  and  the  chief 
accountant  with  another  bridemaid,  and  Captain  Soren- 
sen  with  another,  and  then  the  rest. 

Then  the  organ  burst  into  a  wedding  march,  rolling 
and  pealing  about  the  walls  and  roof  of  the  mighty  hall, 
and  amid  its  melodious  thunder,  and  the  shouts  of  the 
wedding-guests,  Harry  led  his  bride  slowl}^  through  the 
lane  of  curious  and  rejoicing  faces,  till  they  reached  the 
dais. 

When  all  were  arranged  with  the  bride  seated  in  the 
middle,  her  husband  standing  at  her  right  and  the 
bridemaids  grouped  behind  them,  Lord  Jocelyn  stepped 
to  the  front  and  read  in  a  loud  voice  ])art  of  the  deed  of 
gift,  which  he  then  gave  with  a  profmnid  bow  to  An- 
gela, who  placed  it  in  her  husband's  hands. 

Then  she  stepped  forward  and  rais:od  her  veil,  and 
stood  before  them  all,  beautiful  as  the  day,  and  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  Yet  she  spoke  in  firm  and  clear  ac- 
cents which  all  could  hear.  It  was  her  first  and  last 
public  speech ;  for  Angela  belongs  to  that  rapidly  di- 
minishing body  of  women  who  prefer  to  let  the  men  do 
all  the  public  speaking. 

"My  dear  friends,"  she  said,  "my  kind    friends:  I 


444  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN. 

wish  first  that  you  should  clearly  understand  that  this 
Palace  has  been  invented  and  designed  for  you  by  my 
husband.  All  I  have  done  is  to  build  it.  Now  it  is 
yours,  with  all  it  contains.  I  pray  God  that  it  may  be 
used  worthih",  and  for  the  joy  and  happiness  of  all.  I 
declare  this  Palace  of  Delight  open,  the  property  of  the 
people,  to  be  administered  and  governed  by  them,  and 
tliom  alone,  in  trust  for  each  other." 

This  was  all  she  said ;  and  the  people  cheered  again, 
and  the  organ  played  "God  Save  the  Queen." 

With  this  simple  ceremony  was  the  Palace  of  Delight 
thrown  open  to  the  world.  What  better  beginning 
could  it  have  than  a  wedding  party?  What  better 
omen  could  there  be  than  that  the  Palace,  like  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden,  should  ])egin  with  the  happiness  of  a 
wedded  pair? 

At  this  point  there  presented  itself,  to  those  who  drew 
u])  the  programme,  a  grave  practical  difficulty.  It  was 
this.  The  Palace  could  only  be  declared  open  in  the 
great  hall  itself.  Also,  it  could  be  only  in  the  great 
hall  that  the  banquet  could  take  place.  Now,  how  were 
the  fifteen  hundred  guests  to  be  got  out  of  the  way  and 
amused  while  the  tables  were  laid  and  the  cloth  spread? 
There  could  not  be,  it  is  true,  the  splendor  and  costly 
plate  and  epergnes  and  flowers  of  my  Lord  Mayor's 
great  dinner,  but  ornament  of  some  kind  there  must 
be  upon  the  tables ;  and  even  with  an  army  of  drilled 
waiters  it  takes  time  to  lay  covers  for  fifteen  hundred 
people. 

But  there  was  no  confusion.  Once  more  the  proces- 
sion was  formed  and  marched  round  the  hall,  headed 
by  the  band  of  the  Guards,  visiting  first  the  gymna- 
sium, then  the  library,  then  the  concert-room,  and  lastly 
the  theatre.  Here  they  paused,  and  the  bridal  party 
took  their  seats.  The  people  poured  in;  when  every 
seat  was  taken,  the  stewards  invited  the  rest  into  the 
concert-room.  In  the  theatre  a  little  sparkling  comedy 
was  played ;  in  the  concert-room  a  troupe  of  singers  dis- 
coursed sweet  madrigals  and  glees.  Outside  the  wait- 
ers ran  backward  and  forward  as  busy  as  Diogenes  with 
his  tub,  but  more  to  the  purpose. 

When,  in  something  over  an  hour,  the  performances 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  445 

were  finished,  the  stewards  found  that  the  tables  were 
laid,  one  ruitning  down  the  whole  length  of  the  hall, 
and  shorter  ones  across  the  hall.  Everj'body  had  a  card 
with  his  place  upon  it;  there  was  no  confusion,  and, 
while  trumpeters  blared  a  welcome,  they  all  took  their 
places  in  due  order. 

Angela  and  her  husband  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  long 
table;  at  Angela's  left  hand  was  Lord  Jocelyn,  at  Har- 
ry's right  Lady  Davenant.  Opposite  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  sat  the  chief  brewer  and  the  chief  account- 
ant. The  bridemaids  spread  out  right  and  left.  All 
Angela's  friends  and  acquaintances  of  Stepney  Green 
were  there,  except  three.  For  old  Mr.  Maliphant  was 
sitting  as  usual  in  the  boarding-house,  conversing  with 
unseen  persons,  and  laughing  and  brandishing  a  pipe ; 
and  with  him  Dtiniel  Fagg  sat  hugging  his  book.  And 
in  his  own  office  sat  Bunker,  sick  at  heart.  For  he  re- 
membered his  officious  private  letter  to  Miss  Messenger, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  indeed  gone  and  done  it. 

The  rest  of  the  long  table  was  filled  up  by  the  clerks 
and  superior  officers  of  the  brewery;  at  the  shorter 
tables  sat  the  rest  of  the  guests,  including  even  the 
draymen  and  errand-boys.  And  so  the  feast  began, 
while  the  band  of  the  Guards  played  for  them. 

It  was  a  royal  feast,  with  the  most  magnificent  cold 
sirloins  of  roast  beef  and  lounds  of  salt  beef,  legs  of 
mutton,  saddles  of  mutton,  loins  of  veal,  ribs  of  pork, 
legs  of  pork,  great  hams,  huge  turkeys,  capons,  fowls, 
ducks,  and  geese,  all  done  to  a  turn ;  so  that  the  honest 
guests  fell  to  with  a  mighty  will,  and  wished  that  such 
a  wedding  might  come  once  a  month  at  least,  with  such 
a  supper.  And  Messenger's  beer,  as  much  as  j'ou 
pleased,  for  everybody.  At  a  moment  like  this,  would 
one,  even  at  the  high  table,  venture  to  ask,  to  sa)'  noth- 
ing of  wishing  for,  aught  but  Messenger's  beer? 

After  the  hacked  and  mangled  remains  of  the  first 
course  were  removed,  there  came  puddings,  pies,  cakes, 
jellies,  ices,  blanc-mange,  all  kinds  of  delicious  things. 

And  after  this  was  done  and  eating  was  stayed  and 
only  the  memory  left  of  the  enormous  feed,  the  chief 
brewer  rose  and  proposed  in  a  few  words  the  health  of 
the  bride  and  bridegroom.  He  said  that  it  would  be  a 
lasting  sorrow  to  all  of  them  that  they  had  not  been 


446  ALL  SORTS  AXD  COXDTTIOXS  OF  MEN.    ■ 

present  at  the  auspicious  event  of  the  morning;  bnt  that 
it  was  in  some  measure  made  uj)  to  them 'by  the  happi- 
ness they  had  enjoyed  together  that  evening.  If  an}'- 
tliing,  he  added,  could  make  them  pray  more  hcartil}- 
for  the  ha{)piness  of  the  bride,  it  would  be  the  thought 
that  she  refused  to  be  married  from  her  house  in  Hie 
West  End,  but  came  to  Stepney  among  the  workmen 
and  managers  of  her  own  brewery,  and  preferred  to  cele- 
brate her  wedding-feast  in  the  magnificent  hall  whi<-h 
she  had  given  to  the  people  of  the  place.  And  he  had 
one  more  good  thing  to  tell  them.  Miss  Messenger, 
when  she  gave  that  precious  thint^,  her  hand,  retained 
her  name.  There  would  still  be  a  Messenger  at  the 
head  of  the  good  old  house. 

Harry  replii'd  in  a  few  words,  and  the  wedding-cake 
went  round.  Then  Dick  Coi)i)in  proposed  success  to  the 
Palace  of  Delight. 

"Hany,'*  whispered  Angela,  "  if  you  love  m3,  speak 
now,  from  your  very  heart." 

Ho  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  spoke  to  the  people  as  they 
had  never  heard  any  yet  speak. 

After  telling  them  what  the  Palace  was,  what  it  was 
meant  to  be,  a  place  for  the  happiness  and  recreation  of 
all;  how  they  were  to  make  their  own  amusements  for 
themselves;  how  there  were  class-rooms  where  all  kinds 
of  arts  and  accomplishments  would  be  taught ;  how,  to 
insure  order  and  good  behavior,  it  was  necessary  that 
they  should  form  their  own  volunteer  police;  how  there 
were  to  be  no  politics  and  no  controversies  within  those 
^valls,  and  how  the  management  of  all  was  left  to  com- 
mittees of  their  own  choosing,  he  said : 

"  Friends  all,  this  is  indeed  such  a  thing  as  the  world 
has  never  yet  seen.  You  have  been  frequently  invited 
to  join  together  and  combine  for  the  raising  of  wages ; 
you  are  continually  invited  to  follow  leaders  who  prom- 
ise to  reform  land  laws,  when  you  have  had  no  land  and 
never  will  have  any;  to  abolish  the  House  of  Lords,  in 
which  3'ou  have  no  part,  share,  or  lot ;  to  sweep  away  a 
church  which  does  not  interfere  with  you;  but  who 
have  nothing — no  nothing  to  offer  you,  out  of  which 
any  help  or  advantage  will  come  to  you.  And  j^ou  are 
always  being  told  to  consider  life  as  a  long  period  of 
resignation  under  inevitable  suffering ;  and  you  are  told 


ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF  MEN.  447 

to  submit  your  reason,  your  will,  yourselves,  to  author- 
ity, and  all  will  be  well  with  you.  No  one  yet  has  given 
you  the  chance  of  making  yourselves  happy.  In  this 
place  you  will  find,  or  j^ou  will  make  for  yourselves,  all 
the  things  which  make  the  lives  of  the  rich  happy. 
Here  you  will  have  music,  dancing,  singing,  acting, 
painting,  reading,  games  of  skill,  games  of  chance,  com- 
panionship, cheerfulness,  light,  warmth,  comfort — ev- 
erything. When  these  things  have  been  enjoyed  for  a 
time  they  will  become  a  necessity  for  you,  and  a  part 
of  the  education  for  your  young  people.  They  will  go 
on  to  desire  other  things  which  cannot  be  found  by  any 
others  for  you,  but  which  must  be  found  by  yourselves 
and  for  3'ourselves.  My  wife  has  placed  in  your  hands 
the  materials  for  earthly  joy ;  it  lies  with  you  to  learn 
how  to  use  them ;  it  lies  with  you  to  find  what  other 
things  are  necessary ;  how  the  people,  who  have  all  the 
power  there  is,  must  find  out  what  they  want,  and  help 
themselves  to  it,  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder  by  means 
of  that  power;  how  those  enemies  are  not  the  rich, 
whom  your  brawlers  in  Whitechapel  Road  ignorantly 
accuse,  but  quite  another  kind — and  you  must  find  out 
for  yourselves  wlio  these  are.  It  is  not  by  setting  poor 
against  rich,  or  by  hardening  the  heart  of  rich  against 
poor,  that  you  will  succeed ;  it  is  by  independence  and 
by  knowledge.  All  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  are 
alike.  As  are  the  vices  of  the  rich,  so  are  your  own ; 
as  are  your  virtues,  so  are  theirs.  But,  hitherto,  the 
rich  have  had  things  which  you  could  not  get.  Noav 
all  that  is  altered  :  in  the  Palace  of  Delight  we  are  equal 
to  the  richest;  there  is  nothing  which  we,  too,  cannot 
have ;  what  they  desire  we  desire ;  what  they  have  we 
shall  have ;  we  can  all  love ;  we  can  all  laugh ;  we  can 
all  feel  the  power  of  music ;  we  can  dance  and  sing ;  or 
we  can  sit  in  peace  and  meditate.  In  this  Palace,  as  in 
the  outer  world,  remember  that  jou  have  the  power. 
The  time  for  en\w,  hatred,  and  accusations  has  gone 
by ;  because  we  working-men  have,  at  last,  all  the  power 
there  is  to  have.  Let  us  use  it  well.  But  the  Palace 
will  be  for  joy  and  happiness,  not  for  political  wrangles. 
Brothers  and  sisters,  we  will  no  longer  sit  down  in  res- 
ignation ;  we  will  take  the  same  joy  in  this  world  that 
the  rich  have  taken.     Life  i.-  short  fur  us  all;  let  us 


448  ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIOXS  OF  MEN. 

make  the  most  of  it  for  ourselves  and  for  each  other. 
There  are  so  many  jo\'s  within  our  reach;  there  are 
so  many  miseries  we  can  abolish.  In  this  house,  which 
is  a  Temple  of  Praise,  we  shall  all  together  continually 
bethinking  how  to  bring  more  sunshine  into  our  lives, 
more  change,  more  variety,  more  happiness." 

A  serious  ending ;  because  Harry  spoke  from  his  heart. 
As  he  took  his  seat  in  deej)  silence,  tlie  organ  broke 
forth  again  and  phiyed,  while  tlie  people  atood,  the 
grand  ( )ld  Hundrt'dtli  Psalm. 

A  serious  ending  to  the  feast;  but  life  is  serious. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  bride  rose,  and  the  band  played 
a  joyful  march,  while  the  wedding-procession  once  more 
formed  and  marched  down  the  hall,  and  the  people 
poured  out  into  the  streets  to  cheer,  and  Angela  and  her 
husl)and  drovi'  away  for  tlieir  honeymoon. 

Tlie  Palace  of  Dt'light  is  in  working  order  now,  and 
Stepney  is  already  tnuisformed.  A  new  period  began 
on  the  ojwning  night  for  ^dl  who  were  piesent.  For 
the  first  time  they  understood  that  life  may  be  happy; 
for  the  first  time  they  resolved  that  they  would  find  out 
for  themselves  the  secret  of  happiness.  The  angel  with 
the  fiaming  sword  has  at  last  stepi)ed  from  the  gates  of 
the  earthly  Paradise,  and  we  may  now  enter  therein 
and  taste,  unreproved,  of  all  the  fruits  except  the  apples 
of  the  Tree  of  Life — which  has  been  removed,  long 
since,  to  another  place, 


THE   END. 


^' 


^ 


# 

^ 


